


the fallen angels' circle

by the_nameless_ramekin



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24996190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nameless_ramekin/pseuds/the_nameless_ramekin
Summary: Angels + Demons AU.Welcome to Heaven - bright, beautiful, flawless. Here, you'll meet the council of angels, six wonderful entities acting as helpers and idols to the humans.But the Fallen Angels? We don't talk about those.All angels who fall into Hell become demons, cursed to an eternity of darkness and torment.But the Fallen Angels have had enough. It's time to retaliate. As the line between good and evil blurs, what will become of our angels?
Relationships: Deuce Spade/Ace Trappola, Jack Howl/Vil Schoenheit, Kalim Al-Asim/Jamil Viper, Rook Hunt/Leona Kingscholar, Trey Clover & Riddle Rosehearts, Trey Clover/Riddle Rosehearts
Comments: 74
Kudos: 179





	1. vision

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: the lore in this piece of writing is not based off any religion/culture/folklore/belief. It is entirely fictional.
> 
> Some characters may be a bit OOC. English is my second language, so I apologise for any grammar and spelling mistakes! There are also some words in my language that cannot be directly translated, so I tried to find similar words. Hope everything makes sense!
> 
> In case my writing may be a little bit confusing, I'll clarify that demons = Fallen Angels. They are the same thing.

_We're bored to death in heaven and down alone in hell_

_We only want to be ourselves_

_We scream, we shout_

_We are the fallen angels_

* * *

Heaven is in chaos. The clouds they stand on rumble, dyed grey and churning with anger. The round domes of the heavenly towers are stained with black ink. The smooth glass surface of the domes shatter, splintering into tiny shards of shrapnel. 

Riddle stands rooted to his spot, watching Heaven quake. He stands his ground on the turbulent clouds, gripping his sceptre. He is frozen, unable to move. He can hear the blood-curdling screams of angels behind him, the crashes of metal and glass and thunder, rolling into a disturbing symphony, but every noise is wavering and muted, not solid, as if he's underwater. 

He wants to claw at his own brain to will himself to think, to will himself to move. He tries reciting the archangel handbook. _In case of a demon attack, send-_

And he's already stuck. He can't even get past the first sentence.

_In case of a demon attack, send..._

_Send..._

Send what? Good lord, he doesn't know. He can't think, not with this raging migraine and the ground shaking at his feet.

He opens his mouth to scream but he can't, because suddenly he's being suffocated, invisible hands tugging and pushing on his throat and shoulders and forcing him down, pulling him towards the bottomless abyss. His sceptre is ripped out of his hands and he can no longer fight back. He's too tired.

Still howling in his ears is that same muted symphony of chaos. The sky flashes red, as if the horizon has been stained with blood. Riddle is lowered down, down, down, getting lower and colder and more and more terrified. He's like a puppet, suspended horizontally on invisible strings.

He spins his head around to see the gaping mouth of the abyss of Hell grinning at him. The darkness looks like it goes down forever. The invisible hands are still clamped around his throat like a vice and he can't push them off.

And then he's falling. Falling, falling, falling, right out of Heaven and tumbling into and under the earth. He's falling so fast that his heart has stopped beating, and the only thing he can hear is a bruising ringing in his ears, and then nothing. It is silent, muffled. He's still falling.

He lifts a hand, watches his fingers turn black as he tumbles down. The ink of evil dances over his skin like paint.

Pain. There's fire and scorching heat, and it feels like a thousand needles are worming their way under his skin. He opens his mouth to scream, but his cries are shoved back down his throat.

He hears laughter. Malicious, spine-chilling laughter. 

" _He's fallen! The Archangel Riddle has fallen_!"

And then:

" _Of course he has. An angel so high up in heaven can only go down_."

* * *

"Riddle. Riddle."

Riddle wakes up with his heart hammering so hard he thinks he might die. 

"I fell!" he screams, in post-nightmare disarray. "I fell I fell I fell I fell I fell I fell I fell-"

"Shh."

A finger is raised to his lips, and Riddle realises belatedly that he's in the Heavenly Archival Library, sitting at a gilded golden table stacked high with books and manuscripts. It's the middle of the night, and Trey's face is illuminated by a single pulsing candelabra. 

Riddle swings his head around wildly, catching glimpses of the rest of the library, shrouded in soft darkness. Other members of the angel council are sprawled across couches, having miraculously not awakened from Riddle's outburst. It's a familiar sight - welcoming, and most importantly, safe.

They're safe. Heaven is safe.

"Riddle."

Riddle, heart still thumping erratically, turns his head back and almost jumps. Trey is so close to him that Riddle can count his eyelashes and see every individual speck of gold in his amber eyes.

"Are you okay?" Trey whispers. His eyes flitter to his right, making sure he hasn't woken up any of the other angels.

Riddle feels like a child right now, and there's nothing he wants to do more than throw his arms around Trey's shoulders and sob hysterically into the crook of his neck. He tries clearing his throat and returning to his usual strict, no-nonsense composure, but it comes out all shaky and wrong, and he can't stop trembling. He feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes and he forces them back, getting increasingly annoyed at his own pathetic reaction.

He musters out a calm, but thoroughly unconvincing "I'm fine", and picks up his quill, turning to his remaining pile of manuscripts. He feels himself flush with shame upon realising that he's fallen asleep completing his archangel's duties.

Trey seems to see right through Riddle's bravado, and raises a questioning eyebrow. Both to Riddle's chagrin and relief (somehow), he doesn't back away. "Do you need anything?"

What Riddle needs is an answer. A solution. He's been having this dream for days on end, and it never ends well. Sometimes, in this recurring nightmare, he sees Trey fall into Hell before he does; sometimes he sees the other angels - Deuce, Kalim, Jack, Rook - collectively tumble into darkness.

"Was it a nightmare?" 

Riddle glances over, fixing his gaze on the earnest and serious face of his partner, and suddenly feels a rush of fear, followed by sudden realisation. Without warning, he suddenly reaches over and grips Trey's hand, startling him. 

"It wasn't a nightmare. I think it was a vision."

* * *

Rook is a lot of things - dramatic, talkative, romantic, borderline annoying (yes, he'll admit that much) - but he's not _stupid_.

He wakes up from his position on one of the Archival Library's couches. The sun shines through the glass domed roof, casting peals of light around the room, making everyone's halos and golden wreaths glitter. Rook smiles at the warm light, knowing that Kalim - the Angel of Light - has once again, done his job in raising the sun up over the horizon.

He dusts off his white robes, even though he knows that Heaven doesn't have a speck of dust in it, and slings his quiver of heart-tipped arrows over his shoulder. Looking across the library, he sees Riddle and Trey asleep with their heads on each other's shoulders, and chuckles knowingly to himself. 

However, as he heads closer to their table, his smile fades. He carefully takes a piece of paper out from under Riddle's elbow. Scribbled on it are illegible, frantic words in Riddle's cursive. He can make out the words _vision_ , _demons_ , _attack_ , _further research must be conducted_ , and then a plethora of frustrated question marks.

He frowns and wonders if it's worth asking Riddle about it. Rook _has_ been around fairly long, after all - almost 450 years. But upon seeing Riddle's scrunched-up eyebrows and weary expression, even in his sleep, he decides that he doesn't want to stress Riddle out.

"Goooooooood morning!" comes the cheerful, sing-song voice of Kalim behind him. What Kalim lacks in volume control, he makes up with his unrivalled optimism. Immediately, Riddle blearily awakens, blinking rapidly. Rook chucks the piece of paper down beside Riddle, praying the archangel doesn't notice, and turns to greet Kalim's unwavering smile with one of his own.

"Ah, the Angel of Light, Kalim!" he calls dramatically.

Kalim bounds over, and they perform their complicated handshake like it's a dance. The ruckus has woken up Trey, Deuce and Jack from their napping spots. Deuce mutters something unintelligible and most likely offensive as he rubs his hands over his face. Jack is immediately wide awake and unfolds his enormous feathery wings to stretch them, while simultaneously carrying out arm and leg exercises. 

"What's the plan for today?" Trey asks Riddle. Rook watches their leader and spots signs of stress immediately, but Riddle is good at covering it up and keeps his voice even.

"We've gotten mail from the humans, so we'll attend to those first," Riddle announces, clearing his throat. "And then we shall carry out our daily duties, run a council meeting, and reestablish our laws. Is that understood?"

As the angels chorus a "yes, sir", Rook watches as Riddle glances down at the paper with the scribble and pockets it hurriedly.

Suspicious indeed.

* * *

_Dear Angel of Protection,_  
_My son, Shinji, is going on a long journey, and I pray that you grant him protection and peace. He is young but reckless, and I am afraid he will get lost or hurt._

Jack scans the letter, fights back a touched smile, and taps it twice with his golden olive branch. The letter dissolves into a golden cloud of sparkles, and the cloud flies off to bless Shinji. 

Jack is sitting in a circle with his other angels, and he can hear the whooshing sounds of the shimmering Blessing Clouds as they fly past, out between the glass pillars, and whizz on down to earth.

The procedure to have a prayer granted is simple: a human writes a letter to whichever angel the prayer is targeted to, leaves it in a local temple, and the angel who receives it will either choose to carry out the letter's request by sending a Blessing Cloud down, or choose to ignore the request.

Jack has never mustered up the courage to ignore a letter - he doesn't feel like it's morally right.

After he's done with his pile of letters, he looks up to watch the other angels send Blessing Clouds flying with their own olive branches. Riddle, Archangel of Order, is furiously ripping open each letter like each envelope is his worst enemy. Trey, Angel of Luck, is calmly and methodically tapping each letter in a steady cycle. Rook, Angel of Love, is grinning like a schoolgirl over his letters, which mostly consist of love confessions and pleas for Rook to shoot his arrows of love. Kalim, Angel of Light, happily reads his letters, and even lets out a laugh every now and then. Deuce, Angel of Morality, studies each letter with an intensity so great that Jack feels as if Deuce is trying to shoot lasers out of his eyes.

It's a familiar and endearing scene, and although Jack would rather die than admit it, he feels as if they're all a big, happy family. He immediately squashes the thought down, rapidly shaking his head. Rook sees Jack jiggling his head and almost snickers. _Cute_.

The letter-opening session continues. Jack's happy to patiently sit and wait until everyone's done.

But suddenly, he feels a chilling breeze at the base of his neck - not something cool and refreshing, but sticky and icy cold. _There's someone here, and it's not someone we know. An intruder_. He immediately unfolds his wings and stands up, eyes darting around the courtyard, searching for any sign of movement, or any sign of something out of place. 

"Jack? What's wrong?" comes Kalim's questioning voice. The entire council falls silent upon realising that something is wrong.

Jack growls and starts flying in slow, deliberate circles around the other five angels protectively. The presence is still there. It's not the presence of an angel - it's something much darker, much more sinister. 

"Jack." Riddle stands up, grabbing his sceptre. "Do you sense something?"

"Yes," Jack says heavily. "It's-"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a dark, lithe figure creeping away, and immediately flies after it, eyes narrowed. He realises he should gave told Riddle what was going on, but there's no time now - he has to find the offender. The person - creature, demon, whatever it is - is surprisingly fast, and he finds it difficult to keep up with them. He soars past marble pillars and glass domes, trying to keep the leaping figure in his line of vision. The wind whistles past his ears as he chases the figure out of the buildings and into the field of clouds that stretch to the horizon.

And suddenly, the figure is gone. 

Jack halts, still floating in midair, and turns around, circling in his spot cautiously. _Where are they?_

And then without warning, the wind is knocked out of his lungs as he's attacked from above, and he lands with a thump on the soft white clouds.

Once he regains his senses, Jack realises he's being pinned down. Both of his arms are being forced down at either side of his head, tied by ropes most likely made out of dark magic, and someone is sitting on his torso, pressing uncomfortably on his stomach.

"Unhand me!" he shouts, enraged. He can't budge under the perpetrator's strong ropes, and realises too late that he's been lured away from the main buildings of Heaven. In other words - away from help.

"Now, now. Don't be so rough. I'll break a nail," comes a seductive voice. Jack growls as a manicured hand trails down his jaw, the touch gentle but unwelcome.

"Vil," Jack seethes. 

Vil's alarmingly beautiful face, accompanied with a smirk, comes into view, and whether Jack likes it or not, he knows that Vil is, undoubtedly, the most alluring and attractive being to ever exist. Even Vil's glossy black horns and swishing forked tail have some element of beauty in them. Everything about Vil is perfect - his soft updo, his black silken robes, his smooth skin and beautiful figure.

"Get off me, you demon!" Jack scowls.

"Well, that's no way to talk to your childhood friend," Vil tuts. His hand still hasn't stopped moving across Jack's skin, and he starts tracing Jack's neck and collarbone with the tips of his fingers. Jack doesn't budge or react. "Don't touch me!" he barks. All of a sudden, Jack is scared. Demons like Vil have immense power, and he becomes increasingly aware of this as Vil continues trailing his perverted hands all over him.

Vil releases a sassy sigh. "Don't be silly. You desire my body. Everyone does."

At this point, Jack wonders if he should call for help or not. On one hand, he's too stubborn to, and his pride is on the line. On the other hand, he has no idea what terrible licentious things Vil will do to him, and would rather not find out. He's run into Vil before, plenty of times, but Vil has, thankfully, never gone too far. But here, so far away from the other angels, Jack realises that Vil has free rein to do whatever he pleases, unless the council of angels miraculously finds them.

However, to Jack's complete and utter shock, Vil doesn't start stripping right then and there. Instead, his expression softens. He reaches out a hand and starts chastely running his fingers through Jack's silver-white hair, the most innocent action he could have chosen, and then leans down and brushes his lips against Jack's forehead. It's gentle, like the touch of a butterfly, completely different from Vil's usual forward, forceful motions.

Vil sits back up and gazes down at Jack, who's too confused to be relieved. "Hey- what-"

But Vil doesn't reply, not even with his obnoxiously pretty smirk. Instead, he stands up, off of Jack, and clicks his fingers. Jack feels the ropes dissolve from around his wrists, but before he can stand up and grab Vil, the incubus has already pitched himself off of the clouds. Jack scrambles to the edge and watches Vil's falling form, graceful and strong and unabashedly beautiful, and knows that the demon is plummeting back to hell.

Jack's fists clench and he stares into the darkness. He can still feel the feather-light touch of Vil's lips against his skin. _Was that his intention of coming? Just so he could-_

He shakes his head wildly and shakily stands up. The abruptness of Vil's arrival and departure makes him feel dizzy. With two big flaps of his wings, he starts heading back to the courtyard, with Vil's enigmatic smile engraved into his memory.

* * *

Vil internally seethes as he flies down back to Hell, wind whizzing past him, his surroundings turning black as he goes deeper into the earth. His closed fist is pressed to his lips and he can't believe he did something so stupid. He should have gone further. He should have consumed the angel's energy. He should have left Jack infatuated with him, not the other way around.

_I wanted to see Jack._

_I should have never become a demon. Then I could have stayed with him._

His stilettos land with a soft click on the obsidian floor of Hell. Hell is exactly the opposite of Heaven, all sharp edges and jagged peaks and endless darkness. A wasteland, but familiar. The ground is uneven and covered in cracks. There are no buildings - only miles and miles of rocky, inky land, illuminated by floating red torches. After all, everything they need can be crafted out of dark magic, so there are no need for libraries or kitchens or even bedrooms.

Vil tries to push Jack's face out of his brain. Incubi weren't supposed to fall in love. Least of all with an _angel_ out of everything.

"Vil."

He turns to see Jamil, the quiet Demon of Deception, with his hands in his pockets and tail swinging around leisurely. 

"Oh. Hello, Jamil," Vil says offhandedly.

"Do you think we're ready to carry out our plan?" Jamil asks. He casually strolls forward, and the two other demons emerge from the shadows, each with their black horns and spiked tails - Ace and Leona.

Vil gives a supermodel smile, feeling his evil roots settling back into his heart. Damn Riddle and his rules. Damn all those prissy angels who think they're better. 

"Of course," he says easily. "I've been so sick of waiting." 

* * *

_We're bored to death in heaven and down alone in hell_

_We only want to be ourselves_

_We scream, we shout_

_We are the fallen angels_


	2. warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the lore in this piece of writing is not based off any religion/culture/folklore/belief. It is entirely fictional.
> 
> Some characters may be a bit OOC. English is my second language, so I apologise for any grammar and spelling mistakes! There are also some words in my language that cannot be directly translated, so I tried to find similar words. Hope everything makes sense!
> 
> FOR THOSE WHO ASKED TO DRAW THE CHARACTERS: I ask that you stay patient until I have planned out some outfits, and I'm really sorry that you have to wait. This might deter you from drawing the characters and that's fine. I don't want to force anyone ^^

_We scream, we shout, whoa whoa_

_Too lost to see the road_

_No need to feel this sorrow_

_We scream, we shout, whoa_

_We are the fallen angels_

* * *

It's close to the middle of the night when Rook senses a shift in the atmosphere.

They're in the library again and Riddle is frantically searching through the enormous shelves of gold-backed books and muttering to himself like a madman. Obviously agitated, the archangel is angrily flinging books over his shoulder. Rook ducks as a hefty volume of angel laws flies past his head and is caught neatly by Trey, who, for the past hour, has been following Riddle around and calmly placing books back in their positions on the shelves.

Rook is busy stringing his bow, and as his sharp eyes dart across the room, he realises that Riddle isn't the only one acting unlike himself. Jack has been swatting at his own forehead the entire day, as if to brush away a nonexistent fly, and he looks even more disagreeable than ever.

Rook frowns as he thinks back to the earlier incident in the day, when Jack had abruptly flown off in the middle of their letter-opening ritual to chase something without leaving an explanation. Of course, the rest of council had tried to go after him, but he'd disappeared into the field of clouds. 

When they had found Jack, he was looking over the edge of Heaven, looking more confused than annoyed. And nobody managed to get a coherent explanation out of him, so they just dropped it, as he didn't appear to be hurt. So there was that.

Rook glances over to Deuce and Kalim, both innocently oblivious to the unsettling feeling that was sinking into the council. Deuce has fallen asleep with a book in his hands and has his head hanging off the couch and dangling there, and Kalim's snoozing body is twisted into some strange abomination of a sleeping position that would make a contortionist proud. Rook has no idea how comfortable they are in their respective poses, but he doesn't say anything.

And then he feels it.

A shift - a change in the air.

Rook immediately tightens his bow and stands up.

Similar to how Jack, Angel of Protection, could sense danger, Rook, Angel of Love, could sense hatred. And there's now a fair amount of hatred oozing around the library like invisible smoke and seeping into the corners of the bookshelves. Not innocent or petty hatred, but a demonic kind.

He casts a look over his shoulder and wonders if he should alert Riddle, but Riddle looks like he might just destroy the entire place, and Rook doesn't quite fancy the idea of getting decapitated, so he sets out by himself. He weaves past the maze of shelves and out of the enormous glass doors of the library, and jolts when he gets hit by the cold night air.

His golden boots sink into the soft clouds as he takes another step forward. The gentle breeze blows his bangs away from his face. He looks across the plains and fixes his eyes on his target.

For a very long time, Rook stands completely still, just staring. The shape of the moon tonight is bent in the same gentle arch of Rook's bow, casting a silver glow across Leona's skin. Leona, Demon of Hatred, is leaning against the glass wall of the library, arms crossed. His expression makes him look irritated, but also thoughtful, and he's not displaying his usual smirk. His black robes fall across his chocolate-coloured skin, tracing every line of muscle. Even from far away, Rook can see the angle of his collarbone, the curl of his eyelashes. Two long, curled horns protrude from his rambunctious head of curls. 

It takes way too long for Rook to snap out of his trance. 

Immediately, he unfolds his white wings and lunges forward, grabbing Leona's wrists and pulling him behind one of enormous marble pillars. He prays that Riddle and Trey haven't seen him. Leona's eyes widen by a millimetre as he gets shoved behind the pillar, but other than that, he doesn't react.

"What are you doing here? You're going to get caught," Rook hisses, hands still wrapped around Leona's. He leans in closer and can feel the warmth of Leona's skin, feel every one of his breaths fan against his face.

The demon only gives a cocky smile in return. "Oh? But Riddle can't punish a demon. _You're_ the one who'll get in trouble."

"Wow. Fuck you, too."

From the corner of his eye, Rook can still see the silhouettes of Riddle and Trey circling around the library through the transparent walls. He sighs, knowing that Leona's still mostly in plain sight, and starts dragging the demon through the clouds and back to his own bedroom. 

* * *

"You shouldn't be here. Especially not now."

Leona has never heard Rook so serious. He watches as the angel hurriedly pulls the white silk curtains shut and lights the candelabra in his bedroom. 

"I literally crawled up out of Hell to see you," Leona scowls. He feels slightly guilty and extremely clingy, and hopes he doesn't display his emotions on his face.

"I know." Rook sighs and flies over with a flap of his wings, hovering above Leona. Leona's glare fades as he feels Rook cup his face and lean down to kiss his nose.

Another kiss is dropped on his forehead, and then on his nose again. Leona feels like he could stay like this forever. There are days when he wishes Rook would go further than his innocent kisses, but he reminds himself that Rook is the Angel of _Love_ , not bodily lust.

He knows that Rook is genuinely in love with him, which makes Leona feel even worse.

Leona is here for a reason. Sure, he frequently visits Heaven in the middle of the night to see Rook - get peppered with kisses, lie in his arms - but that's usually only when he's bored (or really pining over him). Tonight's visit has a more justified explanation. Tomorrow, the rest of the demons are going to start carrying out their plan to destroy Heaven.

Their plan goes as follows: each demon has been assigned a member of the angel council to take down in one way or another. After a long meeting, they've decided not to touch Riddle and Trey, the much older angels, who would be a lot harder to attack on their own. After Deuce, Rook, Jack and Kalim have been taken care of, it will be easier for four demons to take down the remaining two angels.

Leona has been tasked with taking down Rook. It seemed easier to agree to it when he was back down in Hell. But now he's here, right next to Rook, where he can feel and smell him. Rook smells like lemon madeleines and fire, and his touch is endlessly comforting.

"Hmm?" Rook says in questioning as Leona wraps his arms around his waist. Leona buries his head in the soft folds of white fabric and breathes in. He feels Rook's hands running through his hair and he knows that Rook is completely baffled at his sudden display of affection.

_This is the last time I'm going to touch Rook like this._

"Leona. Is something wrong?"

 _If only you knew,_ Leona thought, inappropriately amused, and almost laughs. 

He lifts his head temporarily to gaze at Rook, and he almost melts in a puddle right there and then. Rook smiles down at him, visibly still a bit disoriented, but Leona knows that Rook won't push him for an answer. He tries to commit every feature of Rook into his memory - his piercing leaf-green eyes, the curve of his smile. He has no idea how the hell he's going to try and remember how Rook _feels_ and the softness of his skin and clothes and hair.

"I love you," Rook says, with that same smile.

Leona says nothing in return, and he knows that Rook is always perfectly satisfied either way, which makes him feel even guiltier than before. Does he love Rook? He doesn't even know if he's capable of love. For fuck's sake, he's the Demon of _Hatred_ out of all things. The literal opposite of Rook.

"...You're insufferable," he growls instead, and Rook gives his slightly obnoxious, pretty laugh.

Leona doesn't want to imagine what Heaven - and Rook - will look like once the demons have taken over.

_I hope you can forgive me._

* * *

"Leona. Where were you?" Vil hisses when Leona returns back to Hell. Leona made sure that he only visited Rook for a short while, but Vil's pompous, condescending look indicates that he hasn't been stealthy enough.

Luckily, Jamil, the sharpest of the bunch, is asleep on one of the jagged hills of Hell. Leona knows that if Jamil had been awake, he would have seen right through Leona and would have correctly guessed where he had gone.

Leona opens his mouth to spout out one of his prepared lies, but he feels sapped of energy and can't be bothered. Visiting Rook has somehow tired him out, both physically and emotionally. Instead, he says, rather snappishly, "mind your own business." He's tempted to add a vulgar insult, but doesn't say anything else.

Vil, however, doesn't back down too easily. His eyes glitter. "You went up to Heaven."

Silence.

"Which angel are you seeing?"

Leona is startled by Vil's accuracy and reels back. _How the fuck did he know?_

Vil gives his slow, satisfied smirk, as if he's read Leona's mind. "I think you're forgetting that I'm an incubus. I can sense _desire_. And you, sir, have quite a lot of it."

Leona opens his mouth to protest, but Vil shushes him and leans in, grinning like he's won.

"It _is_ an angel, isn't it?" He drags his tongue across his upper lip, deliberate and slow. "All of the angels up there are...very handsome. Maybe I should go look for _your_ beloved angel. You know, _try_ all of the angels out to test which one is _yours_." His voice lowers and he lets the meaning of his words sink in.

The thought of someone else touching Rook - especially against his will - makes Leona see red. He seethes, grabbing Vil by the collar of his halter top and snarls, "if you lay a hand on him, I'll kill you." Every syllable is soaked in malice.

Vil blinks twice, fluttering his long eyelashes, but eventually sobers and settles into a more serious tone. "Do you love him?"

Leona shakes his head slowly, and hopefully, convincingly. He doesn't _know_ how he feels about Rook.

"This little relationship with your angel isn't going to affect our plan."

It's not a question. It's a command. An instruction. And it's final.

"Of course not," Leona answers scathingly. "Who do you think I am?"

"Good." Vil yanks his top from Leona's grasp and walks off, before calling over his shoulder, "you're taking care of Rook tomorrow. Understood?"

Leona's eyebrows furrow. A very random thing to say on Vil's behalf. They've already established their plan, and Leona knows full well that he's been assigned to Rook, so why the hell does Vil need to remind him? For a second, Leona wonders if Vil _knows_ that it's Rook he's seeing, and if Vil is hinting at Leona to somehow find a way to carry out the plan and save Rook at the same time. It certainly sounded like it.

 _But why would he care? It's not like_ he _knows what it feels like._

Leona irritably lies down on a flat slab of rock, and from the pocket of his hooded robe, he takes out a necklace. It's golden, like Rook's wreath and halo and boots, and there's a single charm, shaped like a bow and arrow. He had swiped it off Rook's bedside table, and he has no idea if the angel is going to notice or not.

He lets the necklace dangle over his fingers, swaying back and forth like a hypnosis tool putting him to sleep.

* * *

Jamil pulls his hood over his head. With a snap of his fingers, his horns and tail disappear, dissolving into black ashes, and are replaced with a glowing halo and a pair of white wings. He turns around, give himself the best once-over he can by turning his head back and forth.

Ace tilts his head from next to him, making his red hair fall into his eyes. "How did you do that? You look pretty authentic."

Jamil stops spinning around to put his hands on his hips. "I'm the Demon of _Deception_ ," he replies, as if it's obvious. "Disguises are part of my black magic."

"Oh. Right." If Ace didn't feel like a dumbass before, he definitely feels like one now.

Jamil looks up. He can see the tiny pinprick of light above him - the opening of Hell. Up there is Heaven, where those damned angels are. He gives his new wings a tentative flap. They move accordingly to his commands, and he internally smirks at his working disguise.

Jamil's plan is easy, and _especially_ easy for a demon with his expertise - going by the saying "keep your friends close, but your enemies closer", he's decided to befriend one of the council members, become at least intimate enough to get some information out of him, and _then_ kill him.

_Easy._

He's chosen to go for Kalim, Angel of Light. A sweet boy, but also a borderline idiot who makes friends with everything that breathes. Jamil is willing to bet a lot of money that Kalim will immediately slap the title of "best friend" on any random angel. _Or a demon disguised as an angel_ , he internally adds.

"I'm going to head up first." It's almost sunrise - and if he's calculated correctly, Kalim will be pulling the sun up in no time. This is the only chance Jamil will find Kalim alone. He cracks his knuckles and starts flying up, soaring past the mountains and mountains of shining obsidian. He's sick of being cooped up in Hell. He's sick of having to live with being condemned wrongly.

_No more Mr Nice Guy._

* * *

Kalim flies as high up above the atmosphere as he can, so close to the sky that he feels like he can touch the stars. He carries a lantern to see properly in the dark. His wings have flattened at his sides to make his body as aerodynamic as possible. He's soaring up like a rocket and it feels freeing, seeing Heaven look tiny beneath him. The glass domes of the buildings look like marbles and the clouds that everyone lives on look like a flock of cotton balls.

Once he's risen high enough, he waves his hands with calculated strokes at the end of the horizon, where the side of the sun peeks out from behind the clouds. He raises his arms up, grinning, and the sun follows along, slowly but steadily rising over the horizon. It casts light over the earth. the sky turns into the canvas of a painter, shifting from rosy pink to bright orange to soft yellow, to a mellow greenish-blue. Beams of light, like shards of glass, cut through the clouds and shine spotlights on the towns way down below. Kalim has raised the sun for years now, but he can never get sick of the sunrise.

He claps the nonexistent dust out of his hands and starts flying back down to Heaven, swooping around in circles, humming to himself. _Today is a good day_. He looks below and spots an unfamiliar figure perched on a cloud, watching him.

Even from here, Kalim can sense darkness radiating off of the person in waves - the exact opposite to Kalim's own light.

However, instead of being concerned, he's immensely curious. He picks up his speed and starts flying towards the figure. As he gets closer, he realises that the figure has angel wings and a halo. _So it's a friend!_

He also notices that he's going a bit too fast.

And wings don't have brakes.

_Oh. Whoops._

He smashes into the hooded angel and sends them both tumbling down towards the clouds.

* * *

Jamil releases a choked gasp as someone knocks into him, forcing the air out of his lungs and making him stumble and fall into the downy softness of the clouds. 

He recovers quickly, coughing slightly. Someone has landed on top of him. Jamil blinks and stares up into the scarlet eyes of none other than the angel he's been planning to kill.

For a second, he forgets how to breathe and realises why Kalim is the Angel of Light. Because there's not an inch of darkness or evil in his expression. Jamil feels momentarily blinded.

Kalim beams at him, and rivals the sun with his smile. "Hello! I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

 _Does Kalim usually make friends by bumping into them and pinning them down?_ Jamil wonders.

Jamil offers a small smile of his own. "I'm Jamil. And you are?"

"Kalim! I'm Kalim, Angel of Light."

Game, set, match.

* * *

_We scream, we shout, whoa whoa_

_Too lost to see the road_

_No need to feel this sorrow_

_We scream, we shout, whoa_

_We are the fallen angels_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!
> 
> As you can see, I'm absolutely going ham on the ships (I just really like romance...), and there's probably going to be more ahead. 
> 
> I hope this wasn't too rushed. I'm not very good with pacing. If you are confused I will try to clear things up in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I really do love Kalim, but "a borderline idiot who makes friends with everything that breathes" is the only way I could describe him accurately X)


	3. instinct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: designs can be found on: https://the-nameless-ramekin.tumblr.com  
> To find the art for this story, search for the tag "angels+demons" on my blog!
> 
> I'm sorry that this chapter took so long! (It's extra long to make up for it)  
> the chapters might get longer in order for me to fit everything in 18 parts ^^

_Fallen angels souls of hate_

_Fallen angels creating sin_

_Fallen angels unholy fate_

_Fallen angels descend_

* * *

Deuce wanders around the entrance of the archival library, lingering around the enormous glass double doors like a guard dog, unsure what to do. The archangel hasn't given any orders yet - no letter-opening, no meeting. Nothing.

He's pretty sure that Riddle and Trey got a maximum of 4 minutes of sleep last night, and he's never been one to approach them and actually ask what he should be doing, especially not when they're susceptible to snapping.

So here he is. Lingering.

He starts heading to look for Kalim (who hasn't come back down from raising the sun, which is suspicious enough), but stops abruptly in his tracks when he feels the air change. It almost feels like a heavy, suffocating fog is settling around him. He subconsciously raises his hand to his face to shield his nose from breathing in the thick, intoxicating smell.

It takes a while to realise that he's sensing the very essence of evil.

Of course, he's the only angel that can sense it - he is the Angel of Morality, after all. He can immediately detect anything that threatens basic morals and goodness.

Eyebrows pulled together, he looks around with almost comical intensity for the source. From what he can tell, it's wafting from the Holy Tower that rests beside the library, a colossal, narrow building made up of shards of pearl and marble and glass, forming a spiral that looks like a needle. The Holy Tower is one of the most sacred buildings in Heaven, built with pure magic and woven, like a tapestry, with divine energy in its walls.

 _Is there someone evil up there in the tower?_ It's unlikely, considering the holiness of the tower, but what other explanation is there?

Deuce knows the only angels who are allowed to go up to the Holy Tower are the archangel and his second-in-command - in other words, Riddle and Trey. No other council members or ordinary angel citizens are permitted to enter. So going up to check is a ridiculous idea, and he immediately bats away the idea.

But...there _is_ a lot of evil radiating from there.

And this _is_ for the good of Heaven, after all.

Hmm.

Since Riddle is ridiculously close to either throwing a tantrum or possibly committing a felony, Deuce decides that he'll skip the step of asking Riddle for permission. He'll just go up and take a peek. Harmless. Simple. He'll find the source and evil and do something about it. (Do what exactly, he didn't know. He didn't think that far.)

He looks around again to make sure that nobody's watching, and then starts stealthily walking towards the foot of the tower, feet sinking into the clouds with every step. For a tower so sacred, there certainly aren't any protective measures to prevent people from going in. It stands unshielded in the open. It's almost too easy. When Deuce reaches the foot of the tower, he gently pushes the small, gold-lined white door open and steps in. He stares up into the spiralling staircase above him. The transparent diamond stairs look like jewels. He can't see past the first few hundred steps - from down below, the higher stairs look like they've blended into a mash of sparkles. The walls of the stairwell look like the inside of a crystal, and pulse with warm energy. Almost ninety percent of the tower is made up of the spiralling stairwell, with a single enormous room at the top. _Maybe it's to deter lazy people from entering._

Deuce tentatively puts his foot on the first step. The glass ripples like the disturbed surface of a lake and makes a tinkling sound, but as far as Deuce is concerned, it hasn't recognised him as a threat. He gingerly touches the curved, intricately carved gold handrail, but the metal doesn't react. _Phew_. Taking this as an invitation, he starts ascending the stairwell, looping around and around as if he's scaling a corkscrew. The higher he climbs, the taller he realises the tower is. And the heavier the smell of evil gets. It's not a putrid smell - quite the opposite, actually. It's the pleasantness and allure of the smell that makes it dangerous.

The tower, whilst beautiful, definitely doesn't have a scenic routes. There are no windows in the tower to look out of, and Deuce knows he'd have a heart attack if he looks down through the transparent steps, so he stubbornly keeps his eyes fixed on the steps in front of him. He grows consciously aware of the time he's spending scaling the enormous tower, and prays that nobody notices his absence. Deuce has no idea what Riddle will do if he finds out he's been up here. 

By the time Deuce has reached the top of the staircase and onto the top floor of the tower, he's embarrassingly out of breath, and his legs are quite sore. He immediately sees the source of dark energy - there's a hooded figure tampering with the ornate marble door of the tower that leads into the main archangel's room. From the back, the figure is obscured mostly by their black robe, long and hooded like a monk's. The only thing visible is their tail, a dark red swishing apparition that ends in a heart.

"Hey!" Deuce calls, slamming a hand down on the hooded person's shoulder with (what he hopes is) a menacing expression on his face. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure whips around and their hood slides off their head, revealing a long pair of red horns curled towards each other, as if framing a heart. They have a head of unruly auburn hair sticking out in all directions like a gelled up explosion, with one side slicked back. A single dripping black heart painted is over one eye. 

_A demon,_ Deuce realises immediately.

The demon looks ridiculously and almost comically shocked. Deuce knows that his own face is now harbouring an equally astounded expression. 

The demon scrapes together his remaining dignity and stammers, "oh. Hi. Uh-" 

Deuce wills his last two brain cells to work and manages a, "what are you doing here? What were you doing to that door?"

"...I...was...looking at it."

A long, uncomfortable silence.

" _Looking_ at it?"

"I'm a door fanatic. I have an album of photographs, and it's filled with pictures of doors." The demon says this with such stupid conviction that Deuce is almost inclined to believe him.

"That's a lie," Deuce accuses, as his second hand moves to grip the demon's wrist tightly, making sure he doesn't make a run for it.

"Me? Lie? Pfft. Never." The demon looks shiftily to the right with his bright red eyes, and Deuce realises that this demon is possibly the worst liar to date, excluding Deuce himself.

"You're literally oozing out evil right now," Deuce replies, unimpressed. "I can sense it."

"Hey, hey." The demon attempts to hold his hands up in a sign of surrender, but Deuce tightens his vice grip on him, and he gives up. "Angels aren't allowed up here. You'll get into trouble."

"Me?!" Deuce exclaims in disbelief. "You aren't even supposed to be in Heaven! You're a demon!"

"Well, gee. What gave it away?"

"I mean, the horns, for one-"

"I was being sarcastic, you idiot!"

"Well-"

Suddenly, the demon clamps his free hand over Deuce's mouth and hisses out a "shhh!"

Deuce frowns, but immediately realises why the demon shushed him. They're not alone in the tower anymore. He can hear Riddle and Trey's voices from the foot of the stairwell, gradually getting louder as they climb up. 

_Crap_.

Deuce's eyes dart around for any possible exit he could slip through undiscovered, but the only option is to walk down the staircase - and ultimately, bump right into Riddle and Trey. The door of the main room is locked. The lack of windows in the tower suddenly makes everything very inconvenient. There isn't even a single hiding place - no furniture, no alcove.

In two minutes or less, Riddle will find him up here in plain view. Deuce's heart races with fear at the thought of it.

He's utterly screwed - he's broken one of the most important rules, after all.

He'll probably be sent down to Hell.

 _So much for being elected as a council member_ , Deuce thinks, suddenly deflated. _I'm sorry, Mum._

However, the demon seems to have other ideas than just standing there out in the open. He removes his hand from Deuce's mouth and starts tapping at a solid spot on the wall. For a second, Deuce wonders if the demon's going delusional, but to his surprise, a narrow doorway hidden perfectly in the wall smoothly dislodges itself and slides open, almost like magic.

Well, actually, _exactly_ like magic, because the hidden door is no doubt a byproduct of the tower's intricately woven magical algorithms. 

Before Deuce can even breathe a sigh of relief, the demon grabs Deuce by the hands and rather unceremoniously shoves them both inside the cramped area. The size of the secret room feels akin to a storage closet. The hidden door slides closed neatly behind them just as Deuce catches a glimpse of the top of Trey's head as Riddle and Trey near the top of the staircase. A ridiculously close call.

In the pitch black of the secret room, Deuce can feel the demon's soft mass of hair pressed to his side. The top of his horns are grazing the bottom of Deuce's chin, and their limbs are tangled together. Deuce's leg is bent at an uncomfortable angle and he feels like he's going to slip and fall on his ass.

Riddle and Trey are still hovering outside the doorway, where Deuce and the demon were standing seconds ago.

"You're breathing too loud! They'll hear you," the demon hisses. His voice comes from somewhere near Deuce's torso, where he's squished up against his chest.

"W-What?" Deuce splutters, before lowering his voice to an annoyed whisper. "Do you want me to stop breathing?"

The demon mutters something that sounds vaguely like "yeah, that'd be preferable."

There's a loud slam of a door, and Deuce safely assumes that Riddle and Trey have entered the main room of the tower and are out of earshot.

"Phew. That was close," the demon laughs.

Deuce tentatively laughs along, still on edge. He's basically positioned in an uncomfortable wall-sit with the demon on top of him.

Deuce is _very_ close to falling. He moves his hands around blindly in the pitch black of the room and makes contact with what he assumes is a rope. He tries to pull himself up by giving it a sharp tug.

The demon makes a loud sound that's somewhere between a sharp intake of breath and a bizarre groan. "That's my tail, you idiot!" he screeches.

In the darkness, Deuce feels himself flush with embarrassment. "Oh...sorry." 

"It's sensitive!"

"I said I was sorry." Deuce sighs. "I was trying to pull myself up."

"S'fine," comes the begrudging response. 

A beat.

"It's really...dark in here." Deuce has never been good with small talk.

"Mm-hmm." A pause and a scuffle. "There should be a torch behind you. One second."

Deuce feels the demon shuffling around against him in the tiny space, occasionally accidentally nudging his foot or elbowing him. Quite frankly, he has no idea what's going on. "Can you hurry up?" he asks impatiently as he rights himself up.

He jumps as he feels the demon's frustrated breathing fan against his neck. "I'm trying. Geez."

"Okay."

"Damn, it's more cramped in here than I remembered." His voice is lower in pitch and volume, and right next to Deuce's ear. 

Deuce reddens and internally prays to Riddle for forgiveness and strength. "Yeah, um-"

_Fwoosh._

A bright white flame burns brightly from the wall behind Deuce. He winces in the sudden light.

The demon has him pinned against the wall from trying to reach the torch, but doesn't seem to register this. Instead, he laughs in relief, tipping his face closer to Deuce's in the process. Deuce tries to look anywhere but at him, but there's not much else to look at. He can see the tiny cracks in the painted heart on the demon's face, the flecks of gold in his scarlet eyes, and every individual eyelash. His dark red tail is swishing back and forth like a dog's.

"Oh, wow, you're red," says the demon after he's done laughing.

 _Well, no shit!_ Deuce wants to yell.

"It's stuffy in here," he says instead, because it conveniently is.

"You're right." The demon finally leans back away from Deuce, resting against the opposite wall. He pulls at the collar of his thick, obsidian-coloured cloak, giving Deuce space to look at his surroundings. To Deuce's right is the secret door that they entered through, and to his left is another wall with a bizarre hole that looks like a dog door situated near the bottom. The space is tiny, but elegant (those adjectives reminded Deuce of Riddle) with warm marble on all four sides.

"How do we get out of here?" Deuce asks. He experimentally pokes at the hidden door, but it doesn't budge and seems to be merged back into the wall.

"You can't access the hidden door from here," the demon speaks up. He points the weird dog-door opening. "Crawl through there, and you have access to the hidden passages all around Heaven. We can get out that way."

Deuce is slightly skeptical of this, but the demon's waves of evil have diminished, and his eyes seem genuine, so he decides to trust him. 

The demon takes a conveniently placed hollow golden lantern off the wall and breathes into it, creating a swirling white flame. "Those passages are dark. Come on." He gets down on his hands and knees, very shamelessly, and crawls through the opening easily. Deuce, ignoring the strangeness of the situation, follows suit. His skin makes contact with the smooth marble floor and he easily slips through.

When he crawls to the other side, Deuce is startled by the difference in atmosphere. There's a wide, dark hallway with three different passageways, reminiscent of a maze. The walls are made out of old, chipping slabs of grey stone, stacked on top of one another and crumbling on some sides, rather than the clean glass of Heaven's buildings. Moss curls around dilapidated rock. It even _feels_ colder.

"How long will it take for us to get out?" Deuce asks, ignoring the demon's proffered hand and standing up by himself.

"Depends if we get lost or not. Might take two or three days. Lucky that we can survive without food and water, eh?"

Deuce frowns, wondering if anyone will look for him in that amount of time. Finally, he turns to the demon and asks, "what's your name?"

"Ace."

"Ace," Deuce repeats, and the name settles on his tongue like a familiar expression. "I'm Deuce."

Ace shoots him a smile, and for a split second, Deuce swears he's seen Ace somewhere before. "I know."

* * *

The single tall room of the tower is a haven of meticulously arranged sacred objects - moving glass telescopes littered with pearls, shelves of protected texts bound in gold satin, walls of angel memorabilia and age-old weapons. In the middle of the room is a giant white four-poster bed, with swan-down and satin and silk dripping off it like a melting glacier. The Holy Tower serves as the main dwelling quarters for the archangel, and although Riddle hasn't been up here in ages and sleeps more often in the library, he visibly relaxes the tiniest bit as they step in, although he still remains extremely tense. 

Trey watches Riddle pace restlessly around the room, heeled shoes clicking on tiled floors. The archangel marches over to the carved gold door and slams it so hard that Trey jumps. The reverb of the loud slam echoes and bounces off the walls, making Trey's head ring.

"This is ridiculous," Riddle seethes, and the steady _click-click_ of his footsteps increase in speed as he starts pacing faster.

"You've already taken all the precautionary methods that you can," Trey says evenly.

Riddle paces around for a little more, and then flops dramatically onto the enormous bed in the middle of the room in an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion. "The dreams were visions," he announces, even though they've already made that clear.

"Yes," Trey says tentatively.

"Which means that I can't stop the demons from _attempting_ to attack." 

He turns around and stares at Trey in the eye. "Do you understand? It's inevitable that the demons will crawl up from Hell and try to take over. I can't change that - it's fate. The only thing I can try to alter is the _success_ of their plan. I basically have to let them into Heaven, and then try to stop them _as_ they're attacking!" He sniffs, and for a second, he just looks like a huffy child throwing a tantrum. "If I can't, we'll probably all die."

"...Well, actually, we'll probably be turned into demons," Trey interjects, but immediately realises he's said the wrong thing.

"Even worse!"

Trey remains silent. He can't deny that Riddle's stress has gotten to him. Instead of showcasing his usual orderly mannerisms and giving out clear instructions like the perfect Archangel of Order he is, Riddle's turned borderline chaotic.

 _Chaotic. The opposite of what he's supposed to be._ Trey involuntarily flinches at the sudden realisation. And then an unwelcome thought worms its way into his brain: _angels who go insane, or angels who break a rule will become demons._

Riddle had chosen to keep the vision a secret from the other council members, claiming that it would distract them from their duties. Although Trey had felt the urge to protest against Riddle's decision, he had, as always, gone along with Riddle's idea.

Only idiots argue with the archangel. 

_Doesn't it make more sense if we told the angel council about the inevitable attack? Then they'd be prepared, and would become more wary of their surroundings. If we just let them carry on blindly, they might get hurt._ Even now, Trey is tempted to argue - no, _offer_ another solution. Trey's natural instincts from being the Angel of Luck tell him that their decision to keep the other angels in the dark will most likely combine with a dozen other unfortunate factors and backfire against them miserably in a stroke of pure misfortune.

But his loyalty to Riddle ultimately comes first.

Trey moves closer to the door. He isn't completely sure of what the purpose of their visit to the tower was - probably to help Riddle think. The Holy Tower's main function is to provide divine energy to the archangel, after all.

Either way, he feels like he's intruding on Riddle's alone time, and moves to open the door, pulling on it sharply.

It doesn't budge.

Panicking slightly, he jiggles the doorknob around more, but the knob stays rooted to its position, not even twisting a tiny bit. His eyes narrow in realisation. The door isn't just jammed - they've been magically trapped by dark forces.

"Riddle. The door's been sealed shut."

Riddle's head snaps up from his curled-up position, and he immediately scrambles to Trey's side and tries opening the door. The doorknob doesn't even twist.

"What?" he shrieks, voice rising in pitch.

"Dark magic." Trey's voice is resigned, but tense. "I think we're stuck here."

"Ridiculous. I'll blast the door off." Riddle makes a move to grab his sceptre, but Trey stops him.

"You can't. The dark magic is too strong. It's a culmination of years of gathering dark energy, probably from multiple people," Trey says lowly. An unfamiliar feeling of dear has settled into his stomach. "Besides, if you damage the tower, you'll hurt yourself in the process."

"Dark magic." Riddle unwraps his clenched fingers from the golden doorknob and stares at his pale hand. There's traces of fragmented black obsidian emanating from the door that now show up on specks on his skin. Black obsidian - the stone of evil. "That means the demons are already here. They're out there, in Heaven. And so is the council."

Trey's breath hitches as he slowly turns around to stare at Riddle's frozen expression. Instead of anger, his eyebrows are drawn up in fear. He stares dead ahead at the door, as if it carries more meaning and weight than a just physical barrier.

Slowly, _painfully_ slowly, he slides down onto his knees, still staring at the door. His white robes pool around him as he slips down, making him look like a melting statue.

Riddle had been relying on his plan of fighting the demons once they'd arrived - Trey knows the overly-revised battle plan like the back of his hand. But the demons are already here, and now that they're locked in, Riddle's plan is ultimately thwarted.

"They...they outsmarted me," Riddle says, but it comes out like a whisper. 

For the first time in his life, he looks like he doesn't know what to do.

* * *

"And that's how Deuce, Jack and I flooded the entire room with wine on Trey's birthday," Kalim finishes, lowering his hands and exhaling after a long-winded story. He wonders if he's talked too much, but somehow, Jamil seems exceedingly interested in everything he has to say, which Kalim finds both flattering and odd.

He's sat with Jamil for a long time - how long exactly, he didn't know - and had found out that Jamil is a new angel council member who is almost unnaturally interested in Riddle, Trey, Deuce, Jack, Rook and Kalim himself. Jamil didn't talk much, other than the one or two times he spoke up to ask a question. Luckily for Jamil, Kalim's more than happy to introduce him to everyone else, going through profiles and stories and giving way too much unnecessary information.

Kalim hopes he hasn't been gone for too long - but nobody has come to look for him, so he assumes that he hasn't missed out on anything important. He swings his legs, sitting perched on the edge of one of the clouds. Jamil sits cross-legged next to him.

"Anyway, I should get back by now," Kalim says, raising his arms up in the air to stretch them. He gets up on his feet and prepares to set off, but Jamil has other ideas. He clamps his hand down on Kalim's wrist, gripping tightly.

"Please don't," he says lowly.

Kalim's hit by a sense of confusion, but he smiles at Jamil anyway. "Why not? You're part of the council too, now, aren't you? You should probably come along as well." He tries pulling Jamil to his feet, but he doesn't budge, rooted to his spot.

"I'm..not good with big crowds," Jamil protests. He stares right into Kalim's eyes, almost unnervingly. 

"Well, it's only the seven of us. And we're all very friendly," Kalim replies reassuringly.

For someone who's allegedly nervous and shy, Jamil's voice is surprisingly firm and calm. Anyone other than Kalim would have questioned it immediately. "Seven is still too much. I'm only really comfortable with one-on-one conversations."

"Oh." Kalim, being extroverted himself, considers the whole thing odd, but decides to sit back down, settling back onto the cloud next to him. Despite how strange the entire situation is, he refuses to judge others' weaknesses. His heart goes out to Jamil. _Poor thing. I can't imagine what it's like to be this shy._

Jamil's hand is still clamped tightly around his wrist, and honestly, it's getting a bit uncomfortable. But Kalim decides that it's fine. After all, it must be Jamil's nerves that make him this aggressive.

Kalim wonders if they'll sit here forever, with Jamil holding onto him like a vice. He doesn't look like he has any intention of actually letting go.

"They might come looking for us soon," Kalim says cheerfully, turning to his new friend. 

Jamil replies with a dubiously ominous: "they won't."

Kalim questions this strange answer for all of two seconds. For a second, he wonders if there's some undercover plot going on that he doesn't know about, but Jamil doesn't look sinister or evil - he _is_ an angel, after all. He concludes that Jamil is just painfully socially awkward.

"If they come to find us," Kalim says, "you don't need to worry. I'll make sure that you don't feel uncomfortable."

Jamil manages a small smile and answers, "I'm sure you will." Kalim beams at Jamil's approval.

* * *

Jamil gazes at Kalim as the Angel of Light turns away to look at a flock of birds in the distance. Kalim watches the birds flap around with childlike intensity. Jamil isn't sure how long he can detain Kalim for without being too suspicious, but from what he can tell, Kalim has believed Jamil's fabricated story of being a new council member without much of a second thought.

He lets go of Kalim's wrist reluctantly after he's sure the angel won't suddenly fly off. Jamil can't bring Kalim back down to heaven until the other demons have given him a signal that the rest of the angel council has been taken care of. Jamil knows that once he has to repeat his made-up backstory to the other much sharper angels, the jig is up. 

Kalim looks completely distracted, so Jamil takes the opportunity to turn his back to Kalim and fish out a black stone. The stone is shaped like a flat coin and pulses with dark energy. Jamil throws a look over his shoulder to make sure Kalim hasn't sensed any darkness. The Angel of Light hasn't moved.

The black stone acts somewhat similarly to a walkie talkie. All four demons use it to communicate telepathically. Hoping Kalim doesn't turn around and question anything, Jamil presses the stone to his forehead.

_"Progress report, everyone."_

Ace's voice appears in his brain. " _I got Deuce! We're in one of the secret tunnels of Heaven."_

 _"Good,"_ Jamil replies. " _Leona, Vil. How about you two?"_

 _"Not yet,_ " comes Leona's voice.

 _"Can you wait?_ " asks Vil.

A vein pops out on Jamil's forehead, but he keeps his voice calm. " _Hurry up, you two. I don't have all day._ "

There comes a slew of incomprehensible grumbling, and then everything falls silent. Jamil scowls as he drops his stone back into his pocket. His only other option now is to lure Kalim directly away from Heaven. His hand momentarily brushes along the handle of his sheathed obsidian knife, and for a mad moment, he wonders if he should kill Kalim right here and now. His hand curls around the cold handle of the weapon and stays there.

But then Kalim catches his gaze and smiles at him, and for some reason, Jamil lets go of the knife and relaxes. There's something genuine and bright about Kalim that almost makes Jamil feel guilty for tricking him. But only the tiniest bit.

Jamil shoves his knife deep inside his pocket. _Maybe later._

* * *

"Hey, Jack, have you seen Riddle?" Rook asks, his hand stopping in the middle of polishing his bow. 

Rook and Jack are seated in the usual courtyard on the warm white brick, in the centre of the protective ring of glass columns. They're both tending to their weapons - Rook with his golden bow and arrows, and Jack with his enormous shield, a giant carved hunk of diamond with razor-sharp blades along the edge, doubling as a means of defence and offence.

Jack shakes his head in response to Rook's question, and Rook immediately frowns in concern. He starts up with wiping his bow again, but his movements slow down. It's been an hour already, and four of their council members have gone missing. Kalim never came back from raising the sun; Riddle and Trey disappeared up the tower; and good lord, who knows where Deuce went? The youngest member of the council is known for wandering into places he isn't supposed to go.

This brings a sick feeling of paranoia into Rook. There was something off about the atmosphere today, too, as if-

The pair of remaining angels suddenly tense up and look at each other in a shared moment of realisation.

Rook begins. "Do you feel-"

"-Danger?" Jack's hands tighten around his shield, and the both of them instinctively stand up, wielding their possessions. Rook is eternally grateful that they'd chosen this day to have their weapons on hand, and internally thanks Trey for the miraculous stroke of luck.

There's a strangeness in the air, as if a dark, looming cloud is hovering around them. Rook doesn't doubt that Jack can also sense it.

"Demons," Rook and Jack say in grim unison. Even though the sun is gleaming right above them on a cornflower-blue sky, the temperature seems to drop by several degrees. A disturbed feeling settles in the air. 

Jack closes his eyes for a second, as if trying to calculate something. Rook can almost hear the metaphorical gears in his head turning. "They've been here for a while," he says finally, opening his eyes. "Do you think the demons did something to the rest of the council? Where else could they have gone?" he asks, which is the most words Rook has actually heard Jack say at once.

Rook's been dreading to hear those words. His mind immediately drifts to Leona, but he bats away the thought. "You know what?" he says, with a sense of unease. "I wouldn't doubt it. Doesn't Kalim always come straight back down from raising the sun?"

"And Riddle and Trey never leave us alone for long," Jack adds.

"No," Rook agrees, eyes skirting around their surroundings. Nothing suspicious so far - apart from the obvious absence of the other angels, of course.

"What do we do?" Jack asks. There's the slightest bit of fear in his voice, but his expression is undoubtedly full of determination. Rook feels an obligation to protect him, being the older of the two. 

"Find somewhere safe to go first," Rook says immediately. "We can't think straight out here in the open. I suggest one of the rooms in the library."

They turn around so they're back to back, holding their weapons in position. Rook flies backwards, letting Jack lead the way as they slowly fly back to the Heavenly Archival Library. Rook's eyes flitter around, so close to Jack that the feathers of their wings accidentally brush together every so often. An unsettling air has crept into Heaven, and both angels have been driven on edge. Every shadow looks suspicious, and even the tiniest movement sparks his attention. Even though there isn't any sign of a direct threat, Rook isn't willing to take any chances. He pulls out an arrow and positions it in his bow, pulling the bowstring until it's taut.

Miraculously, they get to the library unscathed. They fly in and slam the huge double doors behind them. Even here, they aren't necessarily safe - the walls are completely transparent and made from delicate glass. A dedicated demon could easily shatter the walls in one blow. Rook hurriedly rushes the both of them into one of the small rooms in the library used to hold old yearbook-like records. Three of the walls are covered by floor-to-ceiling shelves, and several identically sized books with aged golden spines are neatly arranged in perfect rows. Jack casts a quick spell of protection over the entire room, sealing it shut from danger.

"So," Jack begins warily as he lowers his diamond shield. "What's the plan?"

Rook frowns and tries to think clearly. All things considered, they'd done well so far, analysing the situation calmly and getting to a safe place. But there aren't any clear steps in front of them - and Rook is honestly tempted to wait it out. But his loyalty to the rest of the council weighs in. "We either try to find the demons, or try to find the rest of the council," he replies finally. "Either way, we can't do this alone and outnumbered."

Jack pauses. "But where would we start looking?"

"We know for a fact that Riddle and Trey are up in the tower," Rook begins, "but we aren't allowed up there."

"How about Deuce and Kalim?"

"I don't know where they are." There's a long period of silence. Rook crosses his arms and urges his brain to think. The sudden urgency of the entire situation has frozen his usual quick wits.

"What if the demons are keeping the angels captive? What if it's a trap? If we go looking for the angels and bump right into the demons, we'll also be caught," Jack reasons.

"Also a possibility." Rook mentally rifles through his recent memories, wondering if there'd been any precautionary allusion to a demon attack that he'd missed.

His heart drops. _Leona had been acting weird that night. He's involved in this._

"Rook..." Jack's voice is slow and careful, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Do you think...the rest of the council could be..." He coughs awkwardly, and the next word is mumbled so quietly that Rook almost doesn't hear it. "Dead?"

Rook freezes, and he feels like the blood in his veins has turned into ice.

"We don't know what they're capable of, right?"

Rook tries to dig up something to say - _come on, come on, come on_ \- but his mind refuses to cooperate. What they need is a plan, or at least some vague understanding of what the demons were up to exactly. Right now, they only have several hazy details sorted, and too many unanswered questions. 

"Jack. You know earlier this week, when you went after someone when we were doing the letter-opening ritual in the courtyard?" Rook asks suddenly. "Was it a demon?"

Jack suddenly blushes bright red, and his eyebrows shoot up. "It-" he manages. "Yeah. It...it was."

"Which one?" Rook prods, one eyebrow raised.

"Vil. The incubus." Jack looks ridiculously embarrassed. Rook nods in recognition. _Of course. Vil's a catch._

"Why didn't you tell us?" Rook chastises.

"I'm sorry." Jack sobers up and looks genuinely ashamed, and Rook feels like he's scolding a puppy. "I didn't think it was important. Vil's visited me before. And he never did anything."

"Oh." Rook decides he can't really blame Jack - it'd be hypocrisy. Although he doubts that Vil and Jack have the same relationship as himself and Leona, he understands the allure of demons, whether romantic, sexual, or even just platonic. Demons are naturally charismatic, drawing attention wherever they go - that was part of why they were so dangerous.

Rook stares straight at Jack, trying to read into him, but he can't exactly fathom his feelings for Vil. Neither does he know whether Vil and Jack's relationship could benefit the angels' side.

"The demons physically can't attack Riddle or Trey," Rook says after a long, uncomfortable silence. "They're too powerful, because they've had the most experience. My guess is that they went for Deuce and Kalim, since they're younger." _And dumber_ , Rook internally adds. _And that's a fact._

"So...we should try to find Deuce and Kalim to help them?" Jack suggests tentatively.

"I was thinking that we should find Riddle, actually," Rook replies. "He'd know what to do."

Jack tilts his head to the side in questioning. "But I thought Riddle and Trey were up in the tower."

Another inconvenience in the plan. "Yes," Rook agrees warily.

A beat. "Do you think they're trapped there?" Jack wonders aloud.

"Most likely. That's the only explanation that makes sense," Rook answers. "Or else they would have come down to help us already."

Suddenly, a memory hits him like a brick.

Several days ago, he'd found a note under Riddle's elbow after the lot of them had camped in the library - the paper that had words like _vision, demons_ , and _attack_ written on it like an ominous prophecy. He remembers the confusion and concern that addled him, but he hadn't gone into further investigation at that time. But now, he feels as if everything is starting to make a bit more sense, even if only by a little.

"Riddle _knew_ the demons were coming," he mutters, mostly to himself. 

Jack's ears prick up. "What?"

"Riddle knew the demons were coming," Rook repeats, and his voice raises in volume and urgency as he continues. "He'd always known. He probably had a plan. But the demons still managed to outsmart him. _That's_ the level of power and complexity we're dealing with right now."

There's a long, stretched-out silence as they process this, and a pathetic sort of hopelessness edges its way into their spirits. Rook sees Jack's grip loosen on his shield, as if in premature defeat. For a second, Rook wants to give up as well. If the demons beat Riddle and Trey, then everyone else is _definitely_ screwed. He starts slowly pacing around the room, asking himself questions.

_What did Riddle lack that made him fail? What do we have that can benefit us? We're not even half as strong as Riddle..._

Rook stops pacing. _Of course! Jack and I both have personal connections to particular demons!_

"Let's try taking down the demons first. If we lower their numbers, they'll be weaker as a whole, and easier to stop." Rook turns around. "Jack. Do you think we could try to find Vil? The two of us, of course. It's better to stick together."

Jack looks up and blinks twice. "Why Vil?"

"Well, there's obviously something between you two." Jack doesn't do anything to deny this, so Rook continues. "Something tells me that Vil won't hurt you, so it's currently our safest demon to find by default. At least one of us has a guarantee of not being hurt."

Jack considers this. "What if he's with other demons?"

"I doubt it." Rook's sharp mind kicks into play as he mentally tries to assess the situation. "They're only carrying out the beginning of their plan now, right? There are only four demons. They'd have to split up to attack all of us angels at once, so I'm assuming that each demon is either alone or with an angel."

"But-"

"And even if he _is_ with another demon, I'll be there to take care of them, while you try to stop Vil," Rook continues, before Jack can protest, "I really don't think he'll hurt _you_. Seriously. Trust me. I know Vil."

"And what do we do when we find Vil?" Jack asks, slowly catching on.

"Try to restrain him. Lock him up or something. It doesn't really matter, as long we can stop him from carrying out his part of the attack." Rook relaxes slightly under his newfound confidence. "And after that, we'll find Leona and do the same to him."

This raises a question. "Leona? Do you know him?"

"He won't hurt me, and I can talk him down without either party getting injured. Which is the ideal solution we want." 

Miraculously, Jack doesn't question any further. Neither does he look confused or disgusted - Rook is secretly grateful for this.

"If we try to take down two demons together and try to find the other angels, there'll only be two demons left, against the six of us." Rook counts the numbers out on his fingers. "And then we'll formulate a proper plan from there, with Deuce and Kalim and Riddle and Trey."

"If the other angels aren't dead," Jack adds rather brightly, which Rook realises is his rather jarring attempt at positivity.

"If the other angels aren't dead," Rook repeats. He and Jack nod to each other as a sign of solidarity.

Rook takes a deep breath and opens the door of the tiny room. 

* * *

Leona leans against a column in the courtyard. He can tell from the lingering scent of lemon madeleines that Rook's been here not too long ago.

Vil stands next to him, one hand on his hip like the supermodel he is. The air is thick with silence. Neither of them have taken action to find Jack and Rook, but with Jamil irritably pressuring them to hurry up, Leona knows he can't procrastinate much longer. He's going to have to hurt Rook in one way or another. Inside his pocket is Rook's necklace. Even though the chain is perfectly lightweight and warm, the weight of it in his hand feels heavy.

Suddenly, Vil, who's been silent the entire day, speaks up. "Is Rook your secret little lover?"

Leona's head snaps up. His stomach drops, and he's hit by a blast of uncharacteristic panic. " _What?_ "

"The problem with you," Vil says spitefully, "is that you think you're _so_ smart and sneaky. Newsflash: you're not. It's obvious that the angel you were seeing is Rook."

Well, there's no point in denying it now. Leona sighs. "What are you going to do, then? Dob on me?"

"No. I don't care about you enough for that," Vil answers airily. "But you do realise that you'll have to kill him, don't you? You've been putting it off for so long. I almost pity you for being so pathetic."

"God, do you _ever_ shut up?" Leona growls. "Besides, you haven't done anything to Jack yet, either. Why?"

Vil doesn't answer, and his perfect expression doesn't crack. He looks away into the distance at nothing in particular. Leona's eyes narrow. _Does Vil...like Jack?_

The incubus speaks up again. "You'll find a way to keep Rook safe." Leona isn't sure if this is a statement, accusation, or a suggestion.

"You think I'd betray the rest of the demons like that?" Leona says, disgusted. A part of him feels ashamed and embarrassed, sparking more anger.

Vil stares at him dead in the eye, not backing off. "You've always been selfish like that, Leona."

"Are you saying I should?"

Again, there's no reply, and Leona feels even more irritated. Vil steps forward, and his thigh-high gladiator boots click as he continues walking across the courtyard. His head is held high as always, but Leona thinks that he sees Vil's form shake.

"I'm not saying anything," he calls over his shoulder. "I can't tell you what to do, anyway. You're too much of a stubborn _arschloch_ for that."

He flies off, leaving Leona to process this for himself.

Rook's necklace is still dangling in his hands, swinging back and forth like the ticking pendulum of a clock.

* * *

_Fallen angels souls of hate_

_Fallen angels creating sin_

_Fallen angels unholy fate_

_Fallen angels descend_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to call this chapter: Kalim and Deuce have a grand old time with their newfound "friends", as Rook and Jack go through hell and Trey is locked in with a really sad child.
> 
> also I'm really sorry if the section with Riddle and Trey doesn't make sense. I tried really hard to explain it in English but it didn't really work out...I'll give a more informal explanation if you need.


	4. hopeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realised that it's almost been a whole month since I updated this??? Good lord. I'll make sure I don't take so long next time!  
> Sorry for the wait! I deleted and rewrote this chapter countless times because I didn't know how I was going to write it.  
> My pacing is awful and I'm really sorry about that.

_I hope you see that now you're stuck with me_

_The voice inside your head_

_I am the poison in your veins_

_I toy with your emotions_

_I take pleasure in your pain_

_I will make you - just another fallen angel_

* * *

_A wide, narrow room. Brightly lit by red lanterns, the colour of blood._

_Riddle stands in front of a kneeling, persecuted angel, holding his sceptre like an executioner’s axe._

_“You are too conceited, Ace. Your arrogance has failed you in the end.”_

_Fear. Riddle can feel Ace’s fear, feel every small change in Ace’s demeanour. The tightening of his throat, the constriction in his chest. He can hear the sounds from outside the room. He can hear Deuce pounding on the door and screaming, but his words melt into white noise._

_“The archangel is not a role created to forgive. The archangel is a role created to protect, and to maintain order,” Riddle says._

_A rise and fall of Ace’s shoulders. “I understand.”_

_Flashes of light, a raging cacophony of noises. There’s pain, wind, freezing cold air. Everything is blurry and dulled, as if the memory has been repressed._

_Riddle watches Ace topple into Hell, watches the black obsidian stain his hands black. Ace’s wings and halo dissolve into dust._

_The first fallen angel._

* * *

Riddle’s eyes snap open, breathing ragged and hasty, as if he can’t get enough air in his lungs fast enough. His forehead is pressed uncomfortably against golden stone. He’s fallen asleep against the door.

 _Another vision? No…a flashback. Ace’s execution_. Riddle gazes unblinkingly down at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. The dream had been faded like an old photograph, jolting between scenes and emotions like a broken record. He had felt Ace’s pain, his terror, his shame, as if it was his own.

Riddle squeezes his eyes shut, trying to wring his brain of the memory.

It takes a while for him to recall what had happened before he’d fallen asleep.

He’s trapped in the Holy Tower. The demons are out there, and so are Deuce and Kalim and Rook and Jack. The beating of Riddle’s heart picks up its pace, and every thump seems to cut through the hazy cloud of his consciousness.

 _I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed._ He repeats this like a mantra.

Riddle tries to stand up, but he can’t. For some reason, he feels dizzy, half-asleep, not quite awake. He fights to keep his eyes open. He feels fatigued. It’s a sticky, uncomfortable feeling. He tries to think clearly, but he can’t. His entire system feels dulled and strange.

He realises that, as the entire room is enclosed in a shell of dark magic, it’s sapping away his energy. The only thing wants to do now is sleep.

Riddle turns his head to see Trey lying on the ground on his side as if he’s collapsed, eyes closed peacefully.

“Trey!” Riddle tries standing up, but he doesn’t even have the energy to do something as simple as that. Instead, he manages to crawl over to Trey and starts shaking him gently. “Trey. Trey! _Trey_!”

No reply. Not even a single twitch.

Riddle’s eyebrows scrunch together. He can feel the lack of energy in Trey, as if it’s physically slipping through his fingers. He moves Trey’s head onto his lap and feels his pulse. As far as Riddle is concerned, he's still alive - but comatose. Like some types of animals, angels who have been sapped of their magic and energy often go into comas to preserve their bodies. Riddle’s seen instances like this before.

 _The demons aren’t playing around._

Riddle keeps his arms protectively secured around Trey. He wracks his brain for any possible ways out of this situation. Seeing that they physically cannot leave the tower, the only thing Riddle can do is wait. He doesn’t even have a way to communicate with the rest of the angels.

Tiredness is washing over Riddle’s brain in waves, and as every second ticks past, he can feel a tiny percentage of his energy disappearing. He fights to stay awake, knowing that the only things that will meet him are nightmares if he falls asleep.

_How do we get out of this situation? Think, Riddle, think!_

But he can’t, not with all of this physical pressure on him. He takes a deep breath, and startles when he takes in a whiff of what smells like apple.

_ Apple...? We don't have apples in Heaven. _

Riddle's blinks slow down, and he feels himself swaying back and forth, fighting to keep conscious. He gives in to the fatigue and topples on top of Trey's sleeping body as darkness closes in around his vision.

_ I followed all the archangel's rules, Mama. What did I do wrong? _

* * *

Rook takes a single step out of the library and slowly, slowly unfolds his wings, knowing that the demons can sense shifts in the wind. He can feel Jack’s presence shadowing behind him, and feels a tiny bit more safe.

“Alright. We’ll stick closely together,” Rook reminds Jack. “Back to back.”

Rook lets Jack guide them towards the vague area of where the demons might be, putting his trust in Jack’s ability to sense them. The atmosphere is strangely still and quiet, unnervingly peaceful. _Too peaceful_ , Rook thinks.

As they fly closer to the courtyard, a pleasant, mellow smell of apple suddenly reaches his nose - innocent and nice, like an apple pie. There’s something strangely familiar and comforting about the scent. Rook subconsciously relaxes, loosening his muscles and slowly lowering his weapons.

“What’s that smell?” Jack asks.

Rook inhales deeply. “I don’t know."

"I thought we didn't have apples in Heaven," Jack says, stiffening.

Rook pauses, momentarily startled by Jack's comment. "You're right. We don't." The scent of the fruit suddenly feels sickening. "But it’s—“

He stops short in the middle of the sentence without meaning to and abruptly falls onto his knees, bow and arrow clattering down on the stone beside him. _What? What’s wrong with me?_ It’s as if his legs have given in. He feels completely drained of energy, as if all of his magic has been sapped out of him in a matter of seconds. He feels detached from his body, as if he's floating high above the ground, and the only thing keeping him grounded in the pain in his joints.

Rook hears a thump behind him as Jack lands on the ground with a grunt. Rook hurriedly turns around to check on him, but his movements are slowed and clumsy. His vision blurs all of a sudden, so quickly that he doesn’t register it at first until he realises he can't even see Jack.

“Rook?” comes Jack’s voice. He sounds tired, probably just as tired as how Rook feels now.

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” Rook mutters, holding his head. Everything feels muddled and slow, like wading through a bog.

His brain throbs, and he feels the heavy blanket of unconsciousness draping over him, letting his eyes close and his body go limp.

* * *

_"Vil!" Rook enthusiastically slams the door open, almost making it fly off its hinges. "The council meeting is almost starting!"_

_From inside Vil's room comes a half-hearted mumble of a reply. Rook ducks his head in. In the complete darkness of the room, the only source of light is Vil's glowing halo, tipped at an angle as the Angel of Beauty leans over a setup of herbs, glowing liquids and beakers, moving things around with a pair of golden tweezers._

_Rook breathes in a sweet, mellow scent of apple._ _"Ah, how fragrant! What are you making?"_

_Vil sweeps back his hair, the simple gesture somehow looking endlessly graceful and beautiful. "A potion for a couple of people who have trouble sleeping. It's apple scented. If you breathe it in, you'll fall asleep immediately."_

_Rook nods. "As expected of the Angel of Beauty! Beauty comes not only in appearance, but also in benevolence and intelligence!"_

_A silence falls upon them as Rook steps closer and re-processes Vil's words._

_Rook's bright smile immediately drops. "Vil...you aren't doing this for the humans, by any chance...?"_

_Vil's voice is unattached and distant. "What if I am? What of it?"_

_Rook's eyebrows knit together as he moves to look Vil in the eye. "You know angels can't directly interact with humans in this way! We especially can't gift magical items to humans. It's one of the biggest rules!"_

_Vil slams a hand on the table in an uncharacteristically volatile movement. "They asked me! They begged me. Every single letter they send is a plea asking for better sleep."_

_"It's not your duty to help them sleep!" Rook splutters, angered. "You're the Angel of Beauty, not...not the Angel of...of..."_

_"Be quiet, will you?" Vil's tone is scathing and harsh. "Don't act like you know what it's like to be the Angel of Beauty."_

_"But—"_

_"You're the Angel of Love, Rook. Such a wonderful and poetic thing. But beauty...is so constricting. It traps people in a headspace of what they believe they must be, in order to be accepted. It hurts people. It changes people. It's hardly a good thing anymore." Vil's hair is askew, and there are bags under his eyes. His hands shake._

_Rook's heart goes out to him. "Vil—"_

_Vil hangs his head, as if tired. "The humans. They don't like me."_

_"What?"_

_"They hate me. They say that beauty is shallow and dangerous, and that it's ruined people's lives. People have died in the pursuit of beauty, yet they keep going. Humans curse me, saying that it's my fault that they were born "ugly" and "fat" and "stupid". The humans send all sorts of insults to me, and then they demand for solutions to things I don't even control. Like sleeping patterns."_

_Rook shakes his head. "They're missing the point. Beauty isn't found in outward appearances. It's found in the little things, the small things you learn to appreciate. You are not just a pretty face, Vil. You are the Angel of Beauty because—"_

_But he falls silent upon seeing the emotionless and drained expression on Vil's face, and knows that Vil isn't registering a thing._

_"How else will I get them to accept me?" Vil's voice cracks. "I have to help them out."_

_"Still. You can't keep helping the humans in ways that break angel laws. You'll be sent down right after Ace."_

_Vil raises his eyes to Rook, and the sharp lavender orbs seem to cut through Rook's skin like daggers._

_"Don't you see? The Angel of Beauty can't be anything less than perfect."_

* * *

“What did you do?” Leona asks warily, leaning over the peacefully sleeping figure of Rook.

“It’s called poison apple smoke,” Vil replies. “Don’t worry. They’re asleep, not dead.” He glances up at Leona through his thick eyelashes. “I gave Ace the formula for it to use on Riddle and Trey as well.”

Vil was always experimenting with potions and gases, even as an angel, but ever since they'd fallen into Hell, Leona had never thought that it would come in handy.

"Ironic," Leona says. 

"What is?"

"That you originally made this apple thing to help humans, and now you're using it to hurt angels."

"You're wrong." A click of Vil's fingers, and black ropes are winding themselves around Jack's unconscious body. "I made it to help myself. So it's not ironic at all."

Leona watches as Vil single-handedly hoists Jack over one of his dainty shoulders like he's a sack of potatoes. 

"Aren't you going to kill him now?" Leona asks.

"You aren't going to kill Rook now, so why should I kill Jack?" Vil replies airily. "I'm taking him to his room and keeping him hostage. The more information I can get out of him, the better."

Leona wouldn't be surprised if Vil had ulterior motives, but decides he's done with arguing against him.

He lifts Rook into his arms and sighs.

_What am I going to do with you?_

* * *

Deuce follows close at Ace’s heels as the demon calmly strolls down the passageways. Neither party speaks, and the silence is slightly uncomfortable.

In the past ten minutes, Deuce had managed to collect his thoughts. He registers rather belatedly that he’s just followed a literal evil creature into a dark, secluded, hidden network of tunnels that he’s never been in himself, and that he’s going to be stuck here for two days.

_Hmm._

“So….” Deuce begins awkwardly.

Ace turns to Deuce and raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “Yes?”

Deuce mentally claws around for any topic to talk about. “You really know your way around here, huh?”

“Yup. Sure do,” Ace replies proudly.

“Have you been here before?”

Ace falls silent, before saying hesitantly, “yeah. Heaps of times.”

The awkward silence comes yet again, and Deuce searches for anything to prompt a conversation. He finds his eyes drifting towards the demon, taking him in. The more Deuce looks at Ace, the more familiar he is, although he’s not sure why - as far as he’s concerned, he’s never run into Ace before. The flickering white flame of the lantern is reflected in Ace’s eyes. His steps are rhythmic, arms and legs and tail moving synchronously.

“Whatcha looking at?” Ace asks, jolting Deuce out of his trance. The words are defensive, but Ace’s eyes are teasing.

“N-Nothing,” Deuce stammers, averting his gaze. He feels a blush rise to his cheeks, and he prays that Ace can’t see it in the dim light.

“Hey, are you blushing?”

 _Well, screw that hope_ , Deuce thinks, before forcing out a largely suspicious sounding, “n-no.”

Ace’s mouth slowly curls into a mischievous grin, eyes dancing. “You _are_.”

“Am not!” Deuce splutters.

Ace laughs. “Aw, don’t be shy.”

“I’m not shy!” Deuce protests.

“Yeah, you are!” Ace, obviously enjoying himself, grins wider. “You barely talked to me for, like, the entire hour!”

Deuce huffs out a sigh. “Well…this is situation is kinda weird, after all.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Think about it. An angel and a demon walking around in a dark, private space. For three days.”

“Yeah,” Ace muses, and taps his chin wisely. “Sounds like the setting of a really bad fantasy erotic novel.”

Deuce freezes in his tracks. His embarrassment goes through the roof and he flushes bright red. “ _What?!_ ” he shrieks.

Ace turns around. “Huh? It was just a—“ His eyebrows shoot up as Deuce holds up his fists menacingly, expression darkened. “It was just a joke, it was just a joke!” Still laughing, Ace shields his head from a potential blow. “Don’t hit me, geez!”

“I wasn’t going to,” Deuce replies, and for some reason, he starts laughing too.

“Geez,” Ace laughs, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “I’m not _that_ kind of demon.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not an incubus. You know, the ones that…” He makes a crude gesture with his hands to demonstrate.

Deuce snorts. “I know what an incubus is! You didn’t need to explain it with a hand action!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Still grinning, Ace continues walking, and Deuce stays at his side. “Anyway, don’t worry,” he announces proudly. “I won’t touch you without your consent.”

Deuce laughs, and says sarcastically, “wow. What a gentleman.”

“That’s me.”

“So, what demon are you?” Deuce asks. He hadn’t meant for the question to be so intrusive, but the words are so blunt that it’s hard to interpret it any other way.

Ace’s mega-watt smile falters for a second. “What?”

“I mean, uh—“ Deuce furiously backtracks, shaking his head in apology. “Sorry. Up here in heaven, we have different roles. Like, I’m the—“

“Angel of Morality,” Ace finishes quietly. The energy and sass in his voice is gone.

Surprised at Ace’s knowledge, Deuce gives a single nod. “Y-Yeah.” There’s something suddenly sad and quiet about the atmosphere, making an unrecognisable feeling crawl into Deuce’s heart. “Sorry. I was just wondering if demons had the same…uh, system. I suppose.” Deuce awkwardly clears his throat, hoping he hasn’t dashed all his chances to befriend the demon. “You don’t have to answer.”

Ace gives a half-hearted hum in response. He’s clearly lost some of his fire, even as the rhythmic movement of his tail and arms and legs continues.

After a long while of uncomfortable silence, Ace mumbles something unclear and stunted.

"What?" Deuce asks.

"Conceit," Ace repeats louder. His face is red from embarrassment. "I'm the Demon of Conceit."

"Oh," Deuce says softly. He'd somehow forgotten that demons didn't have flattering titles. "Well, you don't seem very conceited to me."

Ace scoffs, shaking his head. "You've known me for, like, one hour."

Deuce tilts his head as he looks at Ace. "It feels like I've known you forever."

Ace seems startled by this. His eyebrows shoot up, and he starts laughing. "Wow. Awfully romantic, aren't you?" he teases, elbowing Deuce lightly. 

"H-Hey!" Deuce yells, flushing. "It wasn't meant to be romantic!"

"Suuuure. Aren't you the regular casanova?"

"Shut up!"

But Deuce is secretly relieved the twinkle in Ace's eye is back.

* * *

Once Jamil gets the signal that all the angels have been taken care of, he releases a sigh. _Finally_.

"Let's go down to Heaven," he says abruptly, standing up on the clouds.

Kalim blinks, obviously surprised by Jamil's sudden change in attitude. "Huh? Right now? I thought you didn't want to go?"

Jamil offers Kalim a friendly smile and reaches over to touch his hand. "As long as you're with me, I'll be fine."

Kalim beams in response, obviously delighted that he's being relied on for once. "Of course!" He loops an arm through Jamil's and leads them down. "The other angels are super nice, I promise! I'm so excited to introduce you!"

 _If only he knew_ , Jamil thinks to himself.

* * *

Jack’s ears prick up when he hears Kalim’s voice cut through his mind. He opens his eyes, realising he’d been asleep, and blearily registers what situation he’s in.

He’s sitting in his own room. It’s dark, so dark that he can’t quite see his surroundings. But one thing he knows for sure is that he’s being held captive. He can feel tight ropes securing his hands behind his back and tying his ankles together, and he adds things up quite quickly. _I was caught._

From beside him, Vil, a lithe figure leaning against the wall of Jack’s room, looks up as Kalim continues yelling from outside. He uses the back of a hand to gracefully nudge the curtains open and peers through a thin slit in the fabric. The sliver of light casts across the demon’s face, outlining the sharp angles of his features.

“He won’t be able to get to us. I sealed the room,” Vil says, satisfied.

“Jack! Rook!” Kalim calls, followed by muttering too far away for Jack to hear it. Jack worms around in his black, ropey constraints, but he can’t budge. The ropes are binding him by dark magic.

“He’s scared of being alone,” Jack says lowly. He feels terrified on Kalim’s behalf, but he’d be damned if he showed any signs of fear.

“Is he?” Vil thinks aloud. Genuine surprise peeks through his disinterested tone. “I see. Jamil’s really thought this out.”

Jack wants to stay silent as an act of defiance, and for a while, he sits there, still and silent, but his curiosity and dread eventually moves him. “What’s going to happen to Kalim?” he blurts out.

“That’s up to Jamil,” Vil replies vaguely. He seems zoned out and unfocused, half of his face blanketed in shadow. He lowers his hand back down to his side, dropping the curtain, and the line of light slowly falls back into darkness.

Jack stiffens as he thinks about the other angels. They’re probably in the same situations as he is now. He can already see the fear on their faces, the confusion and the pain. He hates himself for not being able to protect them. “If you demons do anything to the others, I’ll kill you,” he growls lowly, teeth gritted.

Vil turns to Jack, slowly, the slow turning of his head and his unblinking eyes remind Jack of a haunted doll. “You can try,” he says. The lack of smugness or pride in Vil’s tone sends an involuntary chill down Jack’s spine, temporarily making his strong facade falter.

Rook’s voice echoes in his head like a warning. _Riddle knew the demons were coming. He'd always known. He probably had a plan. But the demons still managed to outsmart him. That's the level of power and complexity we're dealing with right now._

Jack sits in silence for a long time, just thinking. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Vil - so much he doesn’t know about the extent of his magic, his personality, his past. There’s always been something familiar and comforting about Vil’s nature - his mannerisms, his presence.

Vil’s always said that they were childhood friends, but Jack’s memory is fogged-up, and trying to remember exactly how he knows Vil is like wading through a misty bog.

Not that Jack can remember anything related to his childhood at all.

 _Huh. That's weird._ He'd never really thought of it until now. He didn't really know anything about his past, or demons, or even the old angels of the council who were no longer there.

_Are the other angels...like this as well...?_

* * *

The first thing that hits Kalim when he flies down is that nobody’s there.

Heaven is empty, not a trace of life there.

He tries to think clearly, but - _I’m alone again_ \- those three words cut through his consciousness. A sense of unease creeps into Kalim’s mind, striking quickly, like a snake. He can feel his walls caving in, straining under the fear and panic that’s seized him. His energy immediately disappears, like a burnt out light.

A morbid flurry of memories hits Kalim all at once, detaching him from reality. The feeling of freezing cold water pooled around him, the pulsing pain in his ripped and tattered wings. Calling for help for days until his voice is lost. Waiting, wondering, crying, breaking down. Repeatedly wondering, _where is everyone? Why did they leave me?_

Kalim’s smile is frozen on his face as he flies around, calling for the others.

“Jack! Rook!”

Nothing.

* * *

_“_ Are the demons going to kill me?” Jack asks. His voice is surprisingly even, given the intensity of the situation.

Vil says nothing in reply. His gaze is fixed on the swirling golden patterns woven into the carpet, the familiar sight of Heaven’s furnishings.

 _I lived here once,_ Vil thinks. The sentiment is cold.

Jack pauses, letting the silence linger for a second, and then says, _“_ are _you_ going to kill me?”

The question weighs down heavily on Vil, cracking his perfect mask and making his chest ache. Even though Jack’s voice is completely calm, there’s something about the manner of the question that directly hurts Vil. It’s like an accusation.

His emotions and feelings bubble up all at one, and the culmination of anger and pain he holds in surges forward all at once. In one single swift move, Vil unsheathes his dagger and lunges forward, shoving Jack backwards onto the bed with a thump and kneeling on top of him. The tip of the blade is inches away from Jack’s neck.

“Do you _think_ I’m going to kill you?” Vil hisses, looming over him.

Jack’s eyebrows scrunch together, and his golden eyes dart towards the threatening position of the dagger. If he were to lean forward, he’d get stabbed. “I…don’t know.”

Vil releases a cold laugh. The dagger shakes. “You’re making this so hard for me. Do you know that?”

“I’m not deliberately trying to,” Jack replies earnestly.

Vil shakes his head slowly. "We were friends once."

Jack pauses. "I-I don't remember."

"I _know_ you don't remember," Vil snaps, half in frustration and half in sadness. "You're not _supposed_ to be remember. Riddle made sure of that."

"Wait...what?"

"Doesn't matter," Vil replies through his teeth, annoyed at himself. "Listen. I don't want to have anything got to do with you anymore. You're going to tell me everything you know about Riddle."

"And then?"

"And then," Vil says, pointedly looking at the dagger, "we're going to say _auf wiedersehen_ for good."

* * *

“This is weird,” Kalim says brightly. His cheerful tone doesn’t falter, even though the light is gone from his eyes, and his voice rises in pitch. “They’re usually in the courtyard.”

Jamil says nothing in response. He silently enjoys the rising feeling of satisfaction as he watches Kalim fly around, disoriented. Kalim peers behind walls and pillars, as if the other angels are playing hide-and-seek.

“Wow. How embarrassing! This isn’t much of a first impression, is it?” Kalim laughs, but there’s confusion and a hint of fear in the chuckle. “We’re usually quite organised!”

 _Kalim is terrified of being alone_. Jamil knows this - Jamil knows Kalim like the back of the hand. He knows how Kalim’s mind works, every little kink and cog in his thinking. He fights to hide his proud smirk, and instead pulls his hood over his head, keeping his face in shadow.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Jamil’s voice is full of sympathy, and he curls an arm protectively around Kalim’s shoulder, letting the shocked angel fall against his shoulder.

“Well—“ Kalim pauses, and then visibly darkens. “Yeah. I am.”

"You've been alone before, haven't you?" Jamil continues sweetly. "And it's not a nice feeling."

Kalim's next sentence is stunted and stammered, and Jamil and practically feel Kalim’s walls crumble. “They’ve never— they’re never—“

“It’s alright,” Jamil says. He spins Kalim around by the shoulders so he can stare right into Kalim’s scarlet eyes.

He gazes at the angel unnervingly, and offers a sweet smile. “You have me.”

Up above them, the glowing light of the sun disappears behind storm clouds.

* * *

_I hope you see that now you're stuck with me_

_The voice inside your head_

_I am the poison in your veins_

_I toy with your emotions_

_I take pleasure in your pain_

_I will make you - just another fallen angel_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm even scaring myself with how intense this is getting.  
> Again, sorry for the lack of updates. Hopefully you enjoyed (TTvTT)9
> 
> EDIT: expect more flashbacks and such from Trey, Riddle and Rook. Let's figure out the backstory together~


	5. stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit short, as it is mostly a filler chapter to explain Kalim and Jamil's relationship when Jamil had been an angel.  
> apologies for my ever-awkward pacing.

_If you’ve never had no one_

_Take the word of a fallen angel_

_If you never been no where_

_Take the word of a fallen angel_

* * *

_Trey places down an enormous stack of volumes with a thump on Riddle's table, exhaling. "Here are the records, Riddle."_

_"Thank you." Eyebrows knit together in concentration, Riddle continues writing in small, loopy cursive, black ink shining on the pure white parchment._

_Ever since Ace had been cast down to Hell, levels of tension had risen in the Angel Council. Nerves were jittery. Feelings were high-strung. Conversations were short and often one-sided, with nobody really willing to speak. Sleep was impossible. Everyone carried an air of tiredness that spread from angel to angel until the entirety of Heaven seemed to be fatigued. Nobody had expected anyone to be condemned to such a terrible punishment - but then again, nobody had expected Ace to break one of the most important rules in the Angel Law Book, either._

_Trey glances towards Riddle again. The archangel's hand is shaking, making his handwriting look strange and jolted as he writes down, in perfect detail, a recount of Ace's execution, as the archangel must do. Trey remembers Riddle's expression when Ace was cast down to Hell - he had seemed solid and emotionless, but there had been a side of him that bore fear and grief, a kind of pain that could not be explained, only felt._

_The angel who had taken the brunt of it - excluding Ace, the obvious contender - was Deuce. Trey gazes around the library. As expected, Deuce is not among the clusters of angels reading the law books, revisiting their roles. Trey knows Deuce is probably in his room - or maybe Ace's room. Grieving. Hurting._

_Trey shakes his head._ I thought his execution meant we would only lose Ace. But we lost Deuce, too.

_But the uneasy silence in the room makes Trey aware of yet another angel's absence._

_“Where’s Kalim?”_

_The rest of the angels raise their stooped heads from their books, looking around and belatedly registering the absence of the Angel of Light. Whilst Kalim can be disoriented in terms of punctuality, he usually doesn't step away from duties and sticks closely with Jamil, the Angel of Darkness. After all, light and darkness work together in harmony to create sunsets and shadows. Having thought of this, Trey’s golden eyes flicker towards said angel. A look of confusion and concern sweeps over Jamil’s features._

_Rook places down his book, and his sharp eyes narrow in thought. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him all afternoon.”_

_A heavy feeling of foreboding rests upon the council, pressing them under the weight of the unknown._

_Several pairs of eyes turn towards the Angel of Darkness. "Jamil?"_

_"I thought he was with Deuce," Jamil replies evenly, as panic edges into his voice._

_At first, Trey settles with this theory - after all, Kalim had been running circles around Deuce, trying to cheer him up, offering him comfort and trying to fill the empty gap inside of him that Ace's absence had dug. But there's something off-putting about the suggestion._

_“I...he went herb picking with Jack and I today in the Enchanted Forest,” Vil speaks up. “He’s been uneasy lately.”_

Uneasy due to Ace’s execution _. The words don’t need to be said aloud._

_“He might…he might still be there,” Vil continues, but his words are laced with uncertainty._

_“Still in the forest?” Riddle repeats. He's frozen in his place and has stopped writing._

_“You just left him there?” Jamil’s voice suddenly rises in an uncharacteristic show of anger, and he throws a rolled-up scroll down. It clatters on the marble down by Vil’s feet._

_“Jamil, calm down,” Trey warns lowly._

_“We split up when we were looking for herbs,” Jack says, stepping in as Vil, usually poised and proud, lowers his head in shame. “I didn’t think he’d…” His voice trails off as obvious feelings of guilt silence him._

_Jamil shakes his head, in a combination of disgust, disappointment and almost unnoticeable fear, and starts walking out of the library, disappearing past the bookshelves._

_“Where are you going?” Leona calls after him from his sprawled-out position beside Rook._

_“Kalim’s incompetent on his own,” Jamil calls back, voice stiff. “He’s probably lost. I’m going to go find him.”_

_The library descends back into awkward and tense silence. Nobody makes a move to shadow Jamil, but nobody makes a move to go back to their work either._

_“I’ll go after him,” Trey speaks up suddenly. “The Enchanted Forest is huge. It might take hours to find Kalim.”_

_"Then, I'll come with you." Riddle stands up and reaches out for his sceptre, but Trey shakes his head and places a hand on Riddle's shoulder to stop him. "You stay here."_

_"But-"_

_"It's alright." Trey slowly guides Riddle back down to his chair. "You have to stay with the other angels."_

_Riddle's eyes are raised and pressed together in an unreadable expression, but he eventually lets out a sigh of defeat after what seems like forever._

_"Okay, then. You go. Stay...stay safe."_

_"...Yeah." Trey offers a small smile, and then unfolds his wings and sweeps out of the library._

* * *

_Trey often forgets how big Heaven is. To the west of Heaven's huge main buildings - libraries, bedrooms, meeting rooms, courtyards - is a stretching fluffy mass of open field, and beyond that are miles of forests, situated like armies of golden pine trees that glitter like a bucket of jewels under the sun's soft light. But during nighttime, the ethereal glow of the forest is even more prominent, each tree like a lantern radiating warm golden light. Paired with the canopy of blinking stars, the forest like a Christmas display._

_Trey is halfway through the mass of trees, batting golden branches out of his face and trying to follow the trail of dark shadow that Jamil leaves behind in his wake, painfully obvious dark spots in an otherwise bright environment. Trey doesn't doubt one bit that Jamil can and will successfully hunt down Kalim - after all, angels can track energy that directly opposes them, meaning that Jamil can sense Kalim's light energy._

_As Trey wanders deeper into the forest, a strange sound reaches his ears - at first, it sounds like the pained crying of a wild animal, but when Trey falls still and listens, he realises it's the sound of someone weeping, sobbing quietly._

_"Kalim?" he calls._

_No reply._

_Following the sound of the crying voice, Trey pushes through the foliage and stops short._

_Jamil is cradling Kalim’s unconscious, limp body in his arms, gently and carefully, as if Kalim is made out of glass, an ugly scene in a devastatingly beautiful place. Trey’s heart drops to his feet when he sees the state that the Angel of Light is in. Kalim’s wings are ripped almost into shreds, feathers plucked out, bloody and torn. A plethora of cuts and bruises cluster like patterns on his tanned limbs. Jamil repeats Kalim’s name like a mantra, voice unsteady and scared and shaking, thick with tears. “Kalim…come on, Kalim.”_

_Trey is startled. For as long as the current generation of council members has been together, he’s never seen Jamil cry, or show any signs of distress. Trey takes a hesitant step closer, feeling like he’s intruding on an intimate scene._

_Jamil’s eyes dart up and he sighs out a, “Trey”, in relief, but his tense muscles don’t relax. He draws Kalim closer to him and brushes a hand across his forehead. “I shouldn’t have let Kalim go to the forest without me,” Jamil says._

_Trey hesitates again, words caught in his throat. “He’s not…he’s not your responsibility.”_

_“You’re one to talk.” Jamil’s words are scathing, but his tone is perfectly even and reasonable. “You’re the same to Riddle.”_

_“That’s different. The archangel and his second-in-command are supposed to have an intimate partnership. It’s tradition,” Trey explains. “They’re the roles we’ve been assigned.”_

_“It’s the same for Kalim and I,” Jamil replies. “He’s the Angel of Light, and I’m the Angel of Darkness. We always work together. We can’t be separated or split apart.” His eyes drift down at the wounded angel he holds, and Trey sees a deep fondness in his gaze that suggests that Jamil doesn’t merely see Kalim as a business partner. “If anything happened to either of us, the other wouldn’t be able to cope.”_

* * *

Trey’s half-lidded eyes flutter open as he recalls the memory. Jamil’s surprisingly tender words echo in his brain, making his heart hurt with painfully raw empathy.

 _“If anything happened to either of us, the other wouldn’t be able to cope.”_ That single sentence bore so much meaning and promise and truth. Trey remembers Kalim’s reaction when Jamil was cast down to Hell - the third fallen angel. He remembers the distress and fear and grief, watching Kalim cry and break down so badly that he wanted to die, the pain so gruelling and wrenching that he had to be put out of his pain. Jamil’s existence was to be erased from Kalim’s memories, just like what the archangel’s rulebooks had instructed Riddle to do.

Trey tries to register his surroundings, trying to clear through the heavy, thick fog of his memories and thoughts, but to no avail. He can feel Riddle’s lap under his head and the uncomfortable, cold stone of marble pressing into his hip as he lies on his side, but fatigue has paralysed him and he can’t move at all.

Instead, he lets the flashbacks wash over him again, pulling him into their cold embrace.

* * *

_Trey’s eyes study the injuries Kalim has sustained all around his body. He looks small and frail, almost on the point of breaking, and oddly devoid of life and light. There’s an ugly gash across Kalim’s left arm stretching from his elbow to his inner wrist._

_To Jamil's left is the gaping mouth of a huge cliff-like ditch. No doubt that Kalim had slipped and fallen down. The ethereal-looking forest may be beautiful, but the ground often caves in to mile-deep holes filled with the hard roots of the golden trees, protruding from the sides of the ditch and scraping your skin raw, like knobbly arms and clubs. The forest seems to form these ditches by its own accord, and several unlucky angels have fallen victim to the well-hidden traps._

_Jamil keeps Kalim close to his body, leaning Kalim's head into the crook of his shoulder, like carrying an infant._ _Trey kneels beside Jamil and checks the pulse of the unconscious angel in his arms. Kalim’s skin is freezing cold and stiff, but there’s still the persistent, steady thrumming of his heartbeat there. “He’ll be okay. He doesn’t have any energy or magic left, so he’s gone into a coma to preserve his body.”_

_Jamil remains silent in response, seeming apprehensive._

_"He'll be fine. I promise."_

_“They should have never left Kalim alone,” Jamil mutters, hurriedly swiping away his tears. “He could have died.”_

* * *

_It’s a shame they left Kalim alone,_ Jamil thinks to himself, brushing the dagger by his side. _Now he’s going to die._ His fingers curl around the solid handle of the weapon, as if testing its realness.

Kalim is still half-collapsed by Jamil’s side, almost frozen with fear. The limp and cold feeling of Kalim’s body against his reminds Jamil of memories he longs to forget, and he suppresses the old feelings of attachment and grief before they arise again.

“They just left you here,” Jamil tuts sympathetically, as he sits Kalim down on a stone step of a stairway, propping him up like a lifeless dummy.

Kalim says nothing. Eyes wide, he pulls his knees to his chest, and his hands rise to instinctively rub a long scar on his left arm stretching from his elbow to his inner wrist, as if revisiting a memory.

“They abandoned you.” Of course, the angels did no such thing, but Jamil’s voice is low and soft, almost hypnotising. He can see each of his words crawling in and being rooted into Kalim’s brain, altering his train of thought and rewriting the algorithms in his thinking. “Why would they abandon you like that?” His question presses into Kalim's mind, imprinting on his soul.

“I don’t…I don’t know,” Kalim replies finally, sounding uncertain and frightened, and shakes his head furiously in a show of unreadable, but definitely negative, emotion.

“They’ve done it before, haven’t they?”

Kalim’s head spins to face Jamil. “How did you know?” he whispers.

Jamil shrugs lightly and offers a gentle, sympathetic smile. “A gut feeling.”

“Uh…I—“

“But don’t worry. I’ll never abandon you. I’ll always go looking for you.” Jamil stands up, towering above Kalim’s seated figure, casting a shadow over the angel’s face. Kalim raises his eyes to meet Jamil’s. Jamil can sense that Kalim's light energy has sapped away, slipping under the impact of the traumatic memories and the resonance of his shell shock. Kalim's temporary physical weakness creates a perfect opening for Jamil's dark magic to seep in.

The demon fixes his stare into Kalim’s red orbs, maintaining jarringly intense eye contact, watching as Kalim's eyes start glowing a brilliant scarlet, the hypnosis sinking in.

Red, the colour of the sunset - light and darkness meeting in the middle.

“If you don’t mind,” Jamil begins, despite knowing that Kalim can’t protest anyway, “I’d like to ask you some things about Riddle.”

* * *

When Rook regains consciousness, it takes him exactly 5 seconds to immediately pinpoint the details of what's happened, despite being completely blindfolded.

He's obviously been captured by a demon - or maybe more - which would explain the constraints. He's in his room, lying on his side on his bed - he can tell by the scent and the feeling of his cheek pressed to the soft satin of his pillowcase, creases of blankets arranged around him in ripples. He's been placed down gently with his hands and wings tied rather loosely behind his back, as if the offender is taking Rook's comfort into consideration. He can hear the soft breathing of someone else in his room, every inhale and exhale uncomfortably prominent in the complete silence - probably a demon. He estimates that the demon is standing at around the foot of his bed.

Rook almost starts squirming and moving, but stops himself. The risk of getting hurt or assaulted by the demon - whichever demon it may be - is still there. He changes his plan, lying still and keeping his breathing even, pretending he's still asleep. His mind sweeps across countless memories and clues from his remaining four senses, as he struggles to piece together the facts.

What had happened prior to waking up blindfolded in his room? He'd suddenly fallen asleep, fatigued and weary, energy being sucked out of him, melting his magic like a dripping iceberg. Rook immediately recalls the sweet, mellow scent of apple.

_Apple, apple...where have I smelt that before?_

A beat.

 _Ah. Vil._ Rook, usually expressive, fights to keep a straight face at this discovery, conscious of the close proximity of the demon. _Clever. He doesn't want to hurt Jack, so he made him fall asleep. Not bad._

Speaking of which, Rook gathers that Jack is not in the room with him - presumably, the younger angel has been taken somewhere else to be dealt with. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine, almost making him jolt, and he prays that Jack is safe.

But Rook realises belatedly that the biggest part of their plan has been foiled - he's been separated from Jack, meaning that he can neither protect nor communicate with him. And he has no idea where the other angels are, either. 

Rook's brain starts turning as he casts his original plan behind and begins formulating a new tactic to get himself out of the new situation.

* * *

“Riddle’s biggest weakness is that he always follows the rules,” Kalim says, as his eyes glow a bright red, like two twin suns.

Jamil frowns, tapping his chin with a finger. “That doesn’t sound like much a…weakness, per se.”

“He doesn’t listen to anything except for the rules. And maybe Trey,” Kalim continues, swinging his legs. His voice is bright and chatty, as if he’s just making small talk instead of spilling secrets about the archangel. “He takes his role as an archangel very seriously. If anything threatens the rules, he gets angry.”

 _Ha. I’ve experienced his fury firsthand,_ Jamil thinks bitterly to himself. The painful memory burns his face and reminds him why he's here.

“If he feels like he failed as the archangel, he’ll get very distressed, and he won’t be able to concentrate on anything,” Kalim goes on, unfiltered and unabashedly honest, “it’s almost like he forgot how to be himself. His thinking is completely out of whack. It's the easiest to attack him then.”

 _“_ Is that so?” Jamil muses in interest, lips curling into a satisfied, smug smile.

“A couple of days ago, Riddle got really scared for some reason, and he was completely unfocused and couldn’t do anything properly,” Kalim recalls. “It was really weird.”

Jamil stops in the middle of his nod and narrows his eyes. “Why was he scared?”

“I don’t know,” Kalim replies honestly. He swings his legs and tilts his head up at the sky. “Hmm…maybe it was something related to...demons?”

Jamil’s blood freezes in his veins and he gives a sharp inhale. He instinctively reaches up to tug his hood down, despite knowing that his angel disguise is flawless. “What makes you say that?”

“One day, we were sitting in the courtyard. Opening letters.” He mimes opening a letter to demonstrate and spots Jamil’s blank expression. “Oh, in Heaven, we have this ritual—“

“Yes. I know what it is," Jamil interrupts impatiently. "Go on. What happened when you were opening letters?”

Kalim remains frightfully calm under the hypnosis, and the heaviness of his words seem to bear no real meaning to him. “We sensed something.”

 _“You_ sensed something?”

 _“_ Well, not me. Only Jack. I can only sense darkness, since it contradicts with light.”

“What did he..sense?”

“A demon.”

 _A demon?_ Jamil grits his teeth, and then loosens his jaw to chew on his lip. _One of us went up there? What for?_

“There was a demon there, and Jack went after them,” Kalim continues, blissfully unaware of Jamil’s growing suspicion and irritation.

“Did you ever see the demon?” Jamil asks, mind churning with thoughts and curses. _Who? Who was it?_

Kalim shakes his head. “No.”

“What happened after Jack chased the demon?”

Kalim closes his eyes in recollection. “We went to look for him, and by the time we found him, he was alone. The demon wasn’t there.”

“And Jack didn’t tell you anything about what this demon looked like?” Jamil prods.

“No.”

Jamil leans back and processes this newly received piece of information, replaying every single word Kalim has said in his mind. He closes his eyes and sorts through the things he's been told, as if trying to lay everything out. One of the demons had decided to go to Heaven…but what for? And who?

A chilling thought creeps into his mind and settles there like an unwelcome guest. _Is there a traitor in our circle?_

The faces of each of the other fallen angels appear in Jamil's mind, bored into his memory for years and years of being stuck down in Hell with them - Ace's mischievous, energised smirk; Vil's flirtatious elegance; and Leona's solemn and irritated frown. Yet, the more Jamil thinks about their expressions and faces and mannerisms, the more vague and blurry their image seems to get, as if each one is a stranger. And suddenly, Ace's signature smirk seems to be two-faced; Vil's poised demeanour seems to be distant and cold; and Leona's grimace seems to be unreadable and strange.

_Which one of them betrayed us? How much do I actually know about them?_

His fists clench at his sides until his knuckles pale with the pressure and his veins press against his skin, but his facial expression remains indifferent. “The demon didn’t hurt Jack?”

“Nope.”

“Did you notice anything different about Jack after he'd been...visited by this demon?”

“Mmm…I wouldn’t say so,” Kalim hums in response. He pauses, and then straightens up. “Ah, wait! He _did_ keep touching his forehead for some reason…”

Jamil’s eyebrows scrunch together. The more he asks, the more nonsensical the information seems to get. “His…forehead?”

“Yeah. His forehead.” As if to demonstrate, Kalim leans forward and touches the middle of Jamil’s forehead. His glowing eyes are wide and unblinking, almost unnerving. “Right there.”

Jamil gently pushes Kalim’s wrist down. “And that’s why you think Riddle was stressed?”

“Yeah. Demons don’t usually come up to Heaven at all, so Riddle was probably scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of...a demon attack, perhaps." Kalim's voice is as innocent and playful as ever, but his words hit Jamil like a ton of bricks. Jamil suddenly feels foolish, and for some reason, outnumbered - a strange feeling, considering he was only dealing with one angel in that moment. The same kind of weakness and fear he'd felt kneeling in front of Riddle and seeing the gaping, bottomless chasm of Hell open underneath him, like the jaws of a monster being unlocked, flames flickering like tongues.

"Are you okay?" Kalim asks, tilting his head like a puppy.

He edges closer and leans down, close to Jamil's torso, stopping short right in front of his chest.

"Hey! W-What are you doing?"

"Hmm. There's darkness in your heart." Kalim closes his eyes, as if listening to Jamil's increasingly quickening heartbeat.

Jamil immediately recoils, moving back a bit more. "Is there?"

Kalim slowly opens his eyes, straightens up and shrugs. "It's not bad. It's familiar. Not all darkness is bad, you know."

"I..." Jamil's voice trails off into a sigh. He shakes his head. "You're getting distracted. I have more questions to ask."

"Oh. Okay, go on," Kalim smiles, compliant.

"You've never seen a demon before, yourself?"

"No. I don't know what they look like."

"Demons don't usually come up to Heaven?"

"No."

Jamil exhales with his whole body, shoulders dropping as he breathes out and stands up, pacing the courtyard. He's never even considered one of the other demons to be capable of ruining their entire plan. He'd trusted that they all had the same motives, that they all had no more connection or love directed to the angel council. _I let my guard down. I shouldn't have._

"Kalim," he finds himself calling out over his shoulder without really thinking. The words find their way out somehow. "How would you react if you saw a demon?"

Kalim pauses, and then continues swinging his legs, offering a light shrug. "Well, whether it's an angel or demon, I don't trust strangers."

Jamil turns around to face Kalim. "Then why did you trust me?"

Kalim gazes at Jamil long and hard, and then stands up and takes a step forward, suddenly reaching out to tug Jamil's hood off his head. Jamil, paralysed by surprise and a sudden gripping feeling of nostalgia, doesn't stop him.

The Angel of Light offers a sad smile. "Because you're not a stranger."

* * *

_If you’ve never had no one_

_Take the word of a fallen angel_

_If you never been no where_

_Take the word of a fallen angel_


	6. recollection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did try to make this chapter a bit longer, as the next number of chapters may be shorter in length and lacking in substance.
> 
> it feels strange that there are only 6 chapters. I honestly feel like I've been writing this forever. (which I kind of have since I update so slow-)
> 
> an attempt was made to write a fight scene that could at least pass as decent. The attempt failed.
> 
> I apologise for some OOC moments in the chapter - I understand that OOC is irritating but hopefully it will not affect the overall story too much.

_Fallen angels_

_They never get enough_

_Fallen angels_

_They got the addictions_

_Fallen angels_

_They litter the skies_

* * *

Jamil’s hands freeze in their position grasped around Kalim’s wrists. “What do you mean?”

Kalim blinks slowly, eyes emanating a red glow, hollow and unfocused. “Hmm?”

“What do you mean, I’m not a stranger?” Jamil’s hands tighten around Kalim’s, his voice strained with urgency.

“Well…my brain says I haven’t met you before,” Kalim says slowly, tapping the side of his head. “But…”

“But what?” Jamil demands.

“You remind me of somebody I used to know.”

They let the silence fall around them. Jamil’s eyebrows are knitted together as he stares imploringly into Kalim’s genuine, truthful expression. Instead of addressing Kalim's wistful statements, he averts the subject again.

“If you had to kill Riddle, how would you do it?” he asks.

“Huh? Why would I kill Riddle?”

He moves closer and places both of his hands on Kalim’s shoulders, leaning close to Kalim’s ear and letting his words embed deep into Kalim’s brain. “Because he left you. Just like everyone else did. Wouldn’t you be angry?”

“But it’s not his fault.”

 _Huh?_ Jamil leans back and stares at Kalim. His eyes are still emanating the same red glow - the sign that he’s still under hypnosis. _Why isn’t he listening to me?_

“What do you mean? Aren’t you scared of being alone?”

“Yeah. I’m…I’m really scared.” Kalim releases a laugh, tracing the line of his scar with his knuckles. “But if I hadn’t relied on the other angels so much, maybe I’d be fine if I was left alone.” His tone is wistful and oddly sad. “If Riddle or Trey or Rook were left alone, they’d probably know what to do.”

Kalim gives a light shrug and turns towards Jamil. There’s something about his intense scarlet gaze that now seems to be penetrating into Jamil’s soul. “Not everything is their fault, you know. You don’t have to destroy something as a way of making up for your pain.”

Jamil’s eyebrows shoot up and he immediately steps back. Kalim’s sentence cuts through all of his layers of emotional defence like a knife.

“Ah! I’m sorry! Did I say something weird?” Kalim hurriedly waves his hands in an apologetic gesture.

Jamil sighs, and wonders if his plan is fruitless. “No. Don’t worry about it.” _You’ve always been like this. You’re too good._

Now that he's extracted as much information as he can from Kalim, he doesn't have any more use for him. The thought is cold and strangely painful. He reaches out his hand to angel. "Let's go for a walk."

Kalim smiles, taking Jamil's outstretched hand and interlocking their fingers together with an easy familiarity, their hands fitting perfectly together.

 _Just like old times_.

"Where are we going?"

Jamil responds with an overly-friendly smile as he pulls his hood over his head with his free hand. "The Enchanted Forest."

* * *

"You know, two days is an awfully long time," Deuce says for the millionth time, raising his hand to tap his chin. "At least, to be walking around in a tunnel. It's not exactly scenic. No nice view or anything."

Ace smirks. "Oh, really? Am I not a nice view?"

Deuce's eyes dart in his direction as he releases a huff. "Stop saying things like that. It's inappropriate."

Ace hums in response, not really listening. His mind is filled with thoughts of his task - he has to get rid of Deuce.

As the angel continues muttering to himself, Ace casts a quick spell on the lantern he holds, fingers dancing around the base of the metal. He lets go of the lantern's handle and lets it suspend in the air, drifting along with Ace as if the object has a mind of its own.

Now that his hands are free, Ace's fingers move to close around the leather handle of his dagger, and as he lifts it slightly from its sheath strapped to his waist, he feels the weight of the black obsidian, heavy and solid in his hand, bearing more meaning and promise than he'd like to admit.

 _Sorry it had to end like this, Deuce_. 

Eyes fixed on the back of Deuce's head, Ace lifts his arm and plunges his hand forward.

* * *

_A young Jack and Ace sit on a slab of rock, the smooth surface warmed by the sun. The forest glade is quiet and still, sunshine filtering through the canopy of golden firs and lighting up spots on the grass. A plethora of golden weapons lie scattered on the ground next to their satchels, lying on the blanket of grass._

_There comes a loud thunk as Rook's arrow pierces the bullseye of his wooden target. The Angel of Love lowers his bow in satisfaction._

_As per requested by archangel Riddle, the angels have been directed to practise their combat skills in the forest, mentored by Rook and Jamil. There's no real reason for angels to need to know how to fight - there are no enemies up in Heaven, after all - so Riddle's probably just desperate to shoo them away in an orderly fashion._ _("Alone time with Trey," Rook had insisted with a wink, but the rest of the angels were pretty sure it was because Riddle was sick of them messing everything up.)_

_Rook sinks down onto the dewy grass to polish his bow, wiping at a smudge of dirt. "Fighting isn't just about brute strength. It's about finding an opening in your opponent."_

_"You have to watch them. Survey their weaknesses. If you don't think, you can't fight," continues Jamil, in his soft monotone. Wielding a tiny knife, he pulls back and flings the blade at the target with a single strong sweep of his arm. The knife cuts Rook's arrow clean in two, splitting it in half._

_Jack hangs onto the older angels' every word, watching their strong, calculated movements and the look of concentration on their faces._

_"Do you think I'll be able to fight someone one day?" Jack asks, tilting his head._

_"You're still young," Rook replies, shrugging lightly. "So, probably not. But it's good to learn."_

_"I wanna stab someone," Ace announces in complete seriousness._

_Jack raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Seriously?"_

_"Yeah." Ace flashes a devilish grin as he picks up a dagger and swings it around experimentally. "I'd stab someone like this." He thrusts his arm forward to demonstrate._

_"Not with that technique, you won't." A rustling sound from the golden foliage above them is followed by a thump as Leona suddenly falls from a tree, a sudden blur of white and brown before he gracefully lands on all fours directly in front of them, making Jack and Ace jump. For the most part, Jamil and Rook seem unfazed._

_"What were you doing up there?" Jamil asks, shielding his eyes from the sun to observe the astounding height Leona just jumped from._

_"Napping." Leona yawns as he straightens up, shamelessly flexing his muscles and fanning out his wings. "Before you lot disrupted me." He shoots the collective group a scowl that noticeably softens when he notices Rook amongst the bunch._

_"They were just practising their weapon skills," Vil calls from his position near the base of a fir tree, where he's set up a makeshift laboratory from goblets and vials and tied bunches of herbs._

_"Weapon skills?" Leona somehow manages to make those two words ooze with unconcealed amusement. "Who are you going to fight in Heaven? Beat up a tree?"_

_"Only you're stupid enough do that, Leona," Vil answers sweetly._

_Leona's scowl somehow deepens. "Anyway. As I was saying, you're probably better off spending your time learning how to do more useful things. Like how to read. Or how to deal with annoying angels who think they're important just because they represent the universal standards of beauty."_

_"Well, I don't know," Ace replies vaguely, wisely ignoring Leona's passive-aggressive comment. "Knife skills might come in handy someday, though. Wouldn't you say?"_

* * *

Deuce feels a shift in the air behind him, and without even thinking, he automatically lurches around and grabs Ace by the wrist, not even paying attention to what Ace's hand was doing so close to him in the first place. His hands squeeze tight around the demon's skin as his other hand lands heavily on Ace's shoulder, gripping so tight he can feel the angle of his shoulder bone, and slams the demon into the wall, pinning him against the cold grey stone, all in one swift move.

"Hey! Calm down!" Ace's eyes are wide with shock. The painted heart around his eye is cracking. "What's gotten into you?"

Deuce, breathing heavily, scans Ace up and down. Ace's hands are empty, shaking under the tight pressure of Deuce's hands clamped over his. Not a single weapon in sight.

"I- Fuck, I don't know." Deuce doesn't usually curse, but he feels like he has a valid excuse this time. He'd felt uneasy around Ace for a split second - distrusting. Afraid. He hangs his head over Ace's chest and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out his raw emotion threatening to swallow him whole. "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He reluctantly lets go of Ace's shoulder and wrist and crosses his arms together, hugging himself. "Sorry."

"Hey." Ace's voice lowers to a tone suddenly and surprisingly tender. He reaches forward cups Deuce's face softly with his hands. "Hey. It's alright. You're okay."

"I'm not usually like this. Believe me," Deuce mumbles. He finds himself raising his hands to place them over Ace's, leaning into the demon's touch, like muscle memory. Ace's skin is soft and warm, comforting.

"I know."

Deuce glances up. The floating lantern beside Ace lights up the demon's features in a pale gold glow. He looks ethereal, not like a demon at all.

_He looks like...an angel._

_An..angel?_

Deuce inhales sharply, and his hand tightens around Ace's. The demon's eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" Deuce asks, breathing ragged.

Ace releases a laugh, but he sounds nervous. "You've-you've already asked that."

"Have I?" Deuce demands. His voice is a little too loud and harsh for his liking, but he doesn't care.

An uncharacteristic seriousness comes over Ace, and he quickly takes his hands away from Deuce and steps back. Deuce finds himself feeling suddenly empty without Ace right next to him.

Ace turns away and takes hold of the floating lantern, head lowered so that Deuce can't see his expression. "...No. We're strangers. Always have been."

"...Ah. Right." The angel clears his throat awkwardly. "Sorry for...attacking you."

"No worries. Paranoia? Happens to the best of us." Ace's voice is reserved and cautious. "Let's keep going."

Deuce takes a couple of hesitant steps after Ace, unable to shake off the unrecognisable churning ball of emotion starting to form.

* * *

_Something tells me that Vil won’t hurt you._

Rook’s words echo clearly in Jack’s brain, but now that Vil is looming over Jack holding a dagger a breath away from his throat, the statement provides very little comfort. The dim candles that light up his room only seem to enforce the ominous constriction Jack feels. Vil's expression is blank and cold, strangely distant despite his close proximity. Jack tries moving around again, but the ropes binding his limbs together are tight and suffocating. Vil watches him with very little interest.

"There's no point," he says. "My magic is too strong for you." His mouth curves into the ghost of a small, satisfied smile. "Now, what'll it be? I can stab you right here and now...or I can poison you and watch you suffer, dying slowly."

Jack feels Vil's weight shift as the tip of the dagger inches closer to Jack's neck, and his brain scrambles to find any topic he can grab onto, anything he can blurt out and keep Vil preoccupied long enough. He needs to stall for even a minute or two so that he can formulate some kind of plan.

"I-"

"What is it? I haven't got all day."

"Why are you doing this?" Jack asks.

He almost winces at his own question, the same repeated words that thousands of stereotypical protagonists have said, and prays that Vil is enough of a stereotypical villain to start monologuing, giving Jack enough time to figure something else.

Seemingly surprised at Jack's question, Vil remains silent and still for a long time. He doesn't start talking like Jack had hoped, but he doesn't move the dagger closer to Jack's neck either, which is good enough of a compromise for Jack.

 _"Fighting isn't just about brute strength. It's about finding an opening in your opponent."_ The angel remembers Rook's words from that day in the clearing - he's never forgotten them. His eyes scan Vil up and down as discreetly as he can, and immediately notices a golden necklace with a green pendant shaped like an apple draped around the demon's neck.

Jack's mind immediately flashes back to the sharp memory of falling asleep, tired and devoid of energy after breathing in the smell of apple.

He starts constructing a plan in his head, praying his hypothesis is correct.

"I'm doing this because I have to," Vil says after a drawn-out period of silence. The lack of emotion or drive in his voice is almost frightening, sounding hollow and empty and dry of drive.

Another memory drifts into Jack's brain - although, he can't remember the owner of the voice. _You have to watch them. Survey their weaknesses. If you don't think, you can't fight._

"But do you want to do this?" Jack stares Vil in the eye as intensely as he can. His voice is solid and calm even as his brain is going ballistic. "Is this what you really want? Will you be satisfied after you kill me?"

His next course of action is, quite frankly, insane, and he prays that he'll be lucky enough to pull it off.

"What?" For a second, Vil's visage seems to crumble as he frowns in visible confusion.

Seeing that Jack probably won't get any more chances, this is invitation enough.

Jack, lying on his back, sharply jolts and rolls over onto his side with as much sudden momentum as he can. Vil, still sitting on him, releases a surprised shriek as the abrupt movement makes him lose his balance, roughly throwing him onto the ground. Had this been a less serious situation, Jack would have almost found the sight comical. Heart thumping erratically, he struggles to roll off of his mattress and stand up, teetering and stumbling with his ankles bound together as he tries to get as far away from Vil as possible. Any distance between them is good enough. He tugs consistently at his constraints. The ropes dig into his skin. He's sure he'll have marks there for ages. There's no way he can get out of here unless he can untie himself.

Having gathered himself from the abrupt attack, Vil lifts his head and casts a dark look in Jack's direction. He tightens his hand around his dagger and stands up, shaking on his feet. "What are you doing?" he asks accusingly.

 _If I knew, I'd tell you_ , Jack thinks to himself, breathing heavily. He's never gone into a fight without having planned everything out beforehand. He only has one objective now: survive. He continues scanning Vil up and down, looking for points of weakness, as the demon edges closer with the dagger outstretched, poise perfect and confident.

So he managed to get Vil off him - that's one thing. Fighting the demon with his wrists tied behind his back and his ankles bound together is another. 

Vil, spinning the dagger in his hand, suddenly lunges forward and swings the blade in one big sweep. Jack's quick reflexes kick into play with frightening immediacy. He unfolds his wings - luckily, not tied together - and with a single flap, he swoops into an aerial somersault and kicks the weapon out of Vil's hand a millisecond before it stabs him in the chest.

Vil's shock arrives for only a second, but a second is enough - the disturbance temporarily creates an opening in his magical field. With no time to think his actions through, Jack employs all of his strength to rip his wrists and ankles out of their tight binds in one quick, coordinated, well-placed movement. The ropes made of dark magic instantly disintegrate into dust. A feeling of elation and relief temporarily swells in Jack's chest, but is quickly replaced by the fearful hammering of his heart.

Vil immediately raises his hand and clenches it into a fist. His snowy white skin glows a deep black, like ink, as he accumulates a pulsing orb of black magic. He throws his hand forward as if pitching a ball, aiming it at Jack, his movements uncharacteristically sloppier than before, as if his magic is slipping out of his own control.

Jack, caught off guard, gives a harried movement, swiping his arms up and holding them in an X in front of him. A glowing golden shield materialises before him. Vil's black magic slams into the force field, the impact making Jack skid back on his heels. The churning ball bounces off Jack's protection-magic and, before neither one can register anything, flies towards Vil and hits him square in the chest.

The next couple of seconds seem to slow down as Jack realises what he's done. Vil's body jolts, as if struck by lightning, and he immediately clutches a hand at his chest and steps back, knees buckling and giving in. He roughly supports his shaking form on the bedside table. Candelabras and books clatter and thump onto the ground. 

Without really registering what he's doing, Jack hurriedly strides forward to catch Vil's fainting form in his arms, supporting his frame that suddenly seems small and weightless, as if Vil is empty, a hollow husk. Not taking any chances, but now oddly apprehensive, Jack picks up the dagger that has slipped from Vil's hands and points it close to the demon's neck as precaution.

"Vil?" Suddenly abandoning all common sense, Jack's golden eyes drift over the demon's agonised expression, the pain displayed on Vil's face matching the one in Jack's heart. "I-I'm sorry. Please don't...please don't..."

"I'm not going to _die_ ," Vil replies crossly, with as much elegance as always despite the strain in his voice. "I'm not _that_ weak." He releases a sigh, and his entire body seems to deflate. The words do not need to be said - they linger in the air.

 _I give up. You win, Jack. I'm done_.

"There's no need for you to care for me."

"I...I feel like I have to protect you." Jack's words are as truthful as he can make them - there is something familiar about Vil, and there is something dangerous in that very familiarity. Something fragile.

Vil averts his eyes, still half-collapsed in Jack's arms.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Jack says sincerely.

"You never hurt anyone. I was the one who hurt myself." Vil's eyes bore into him like twin amethysts, and his words carry a heavy sense of sadness. Jack can feel his heart in his throat.

Jack's hand slowly drops the dagger with a clatter, and his fingers edge close to the apple pendant around Vil's neck. Jack can smell the sweet appley scent wafting from it, familiar like a lullaby. Vil's eyes momentarily widen in realisation, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't fight back. 

"I'm sorry. This is just a precaution. In case you-" Jack stops short. The atmosphere is suddenly intensely awkward.

Vil remains still. "I see. Ever efficient, aren't you?" He nods. "Go on. I haven't slept properly in years."

Still supporting Vil with one arm and almost afraid to let him go, Jack single-handedly unclasps the apple-shaped pendant from the chain and flicks the small lid open.

"Go save the other angels," Vil says quietly, energy and fire gone from his voice. "They'll need you." He slowly raises a hand to place over Jack's nose and mouth.

Jack feels the soft coolness of Vil's skin as he holds his breath, careful not to breathe in the warm smell of apple-scented smoke. Vil releases a sigh so deep that Jack can't tell if it's out of pain or out of relief. His hand slips from its position on Jack's face, as his eyelashes flutter as his eyes shut. "I made it...I made it for the humans," he whispers lowly.

The statement temporarily makes Jack freeze. "What?"

But there's no reply - Vil is already sound asleep, hurt by his own magic, and unconscious from his own poison.

* * *

_Rook steps into the clearing where he can still hear Ace muttering to himself. The sun is slowly sinking over the horizon, casting peals of burnt orange light into the forest, the colour of fire. Everything is bathed in the colour of warm sunset, as if the world has been covered by an amber-coloured filter._ _The rest of the angels have retired to the main building, tired after a long day of sparring practice._

_"Ace. What are you doing?" Rook calls, pushing a golden branch out of his way. "It's almost time to go."_

_Stopping abruptly in his tracks, Rook freezes as he feels the breeze of a blade whiz past his face, just barely missing his cheek, so close that he can almost feel it graze his skin. The knife lodges into the trunk of a tree behind him with a loud thunk._

_"Heh. Not bad, huh?" Ace grins proudly, straightening up and clapping dust out of his hands._

_Rook, still half in shock, takes a while to unfreeze. He clears his throat and beams, pleasantly surprised by Ace's newfound skill. "My, my. You've improved."_

_Ace walks past him to yank the knife out of the tree, humming to himself, demeanour relaxed and casual, as if he_ didn't _almost chuck a knife into Rook's face._ _"Cool, isn't it? I've been working on this for the past few days."_

_"What's making you work this hard?" Rook asks curiously, hands clasped behind his back as he shadows Ace's steps._

_"What? Are you saying I don't usually work hard?" Ace scoffs with a smile, casting a look behind him at the Angel of Love._

_"Yes," Rook answers bluntly. "I can't say you seem to really care about angel duties at all." He watches over Ace as the younger angel plops down on the grass to slide the knife back into its sheath. As Ace places the safely wrapped weapon back into his golden satchel, a knowing smile creeps onto Rook's face. He leans down so that his mouth is right beside Ace's ear. "Ah. Could it be that you are trying to impress somebody?"_

_Ace jolts as if he's been shot in the chest, and Rook's grin widens._ Bullseye _. "Why don't you mind your own business?" Ace mutters, face flushed, mostly likely thinking of a certain Angel of Morality._

_"I don't do that, unfortunately." Rook steps back with a lilt in his step as Ace stands up and shoulders his bag. "I'm a naturally nosy fellow."_

_"Yeah, it shows," Ace retorts, as the two fall into easy banter._

_The two begin their leisurely stroll back to the main headquarters of Heaven, grass soft beneath their boots, sun warm on their faces._

_"Deuce, isn't it?" Rook muses aloud. When Ace doesn't reply, he continues, "young love. How wonderful!"_

_"Is it obvious?" Ace mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, a rare sight from the often shameless angel._

_Rook nods enthusiastically, which elicits a rather horrified expression from Ace. "Why, yes! There's a fair amount of tension between you two. I can't tell whether you're going to kiss each other or strangle each other."_

_"Great," Ace says sarcastically._

_"Sometimes I even fear you'll stab each other!" Rook adds with badly-timed passion._

_Ace's expression hardens. "Why?"_

_Rook shrugs lightly. "Well, sometimes your rivalry gets rather intense."_

_"I...guess so. But Deuce is a lot stronger than I am." His voice is full of fondness. "Even though he's really stupid. He has a super volatile temper. And he's strong as hell from training all the time, and he's really good at close combat fighting."_

Ah, young love _, Rook thinks again._

_"You know, I would never hurt Deuce." Ace's voice is oddly resolute._

_Rook softens and smiles reassuringly. "Of course not."_

_In Ace's eyes is a kind of foreign determination and will that Rook hasn't seen in him before, and he knows immediately that Ace's next words are as genuine as they can possibly be._

_"I'd rather die than hurt him."_

* * *

The doorknob rattles for a second before it clicks open. Jack throws open the door of his room, breathing heavily. His eyes shoot up to see rumbling storm clouds churn across the sky like great grey beasts. Discomfort worms into his chest. _It never rains in Heaven._

He takes a step forward, but stops short before he goes out the door, hand resting on the doorframe. Something tugs at his conscience. He casts a glance behind him at Vil, fast asleep on Jack's bed. He's curled up like a child, hands gripping the sheets, face contorted into one of pain.

Even in his sleep, he's under stress.

An instinct makes Jack take a tentative step towards Vil. He lifts the corner of a blanket and drapes the sheets over the demon. There's so much Jack doesn't know about Vil - his complicated mood changes, the cryptic things he says, the emptiness in his eyes, the smile that never reaches his face. He doesn't know why Vil suddenly gave up on trying to keep him constrained, or why he always visited him in Heaven.

But Vil will have to wait. A very literal storm is brewing in Heaven.

_"Go save the other angels. They'll need you."_

Jack unfolds his wings and soars out of the room.

* * *

_Fallen angels_

_They never get enough_

_Fallen angels_

_They got the addictions_

_Fallen angels_

_They litter the skies_


	7. promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!   
> needless to say, it's been a while. I stopped writing completely for a few months to focus on my studies, and now I'm back into the swing of things.  
> thank you all for being patient! enjoy~

_Fallen angel, digging the dirt_

_Fallen angel, what is the word_

_Fallen angel, down to the bone_

_Fallen angel, now you're alone_

* * *

_I couldn't do it._

Ace hates the bitter taste of failure left like residue in his mouth as he stalks on through the passages. Icy water drips from stone, leaving grey puddles on the floor. He can hear Deuce's hesitant footsteps trailing after him.

His dagger is now concealed and shoved back into its sheath. He'd meant to kill Deuce right there and then - it would have been so easy.

Deuce is stupid. Ace knows this. The blue-haired idiot trusts people the second he meets them and believes everything they say. He's no good academically and he's always taken ages to memorise the rules of Heaven that Riddle so harshly follows. He's dense as a brick and preaches about how well he follows his role as Angel of Morality, and then jumps at the chance to do something stupid that will get him in trouble.

But Deuce is also so, so, _good_. Genuine. Selfless. He doesn't have a bad bone in his body. He tries his best and works so hard his back might as well break. He takes pride in the little things, and he goes out of his way to lift others. 

Ace's eyes drift to his own hands, skin covered in speckles and blotches of black by the obsidian that burrowed into his veins when he'd been sentenced down to Hell. He remembers when he'd first seen his hands after falling, he'd thought to himself in amusement that Deuce would think the patterns looked like a cow's. And then he remembered that Deuce wouldn't even know who he was, even if he'd returned to Heaven. That broke him.

Ace casts a look behind him at Deuce, who hangs his head low and wears an expression of unconcealed confusion.

_I already failed him once. I didn't want to do it again._

_Great. The others have probably already killed the angels like they're supposed to._

_I'm so fucking pathetic._

* * *

_Trey stands guard outside the angels' courtroom, leaning against one of the two enormous marble pillars flanking the locked double doors. The single jewel lodged in the middle of the two doors glows a bright crimson, signalling that a trial is taking place._

_Trey's skin tingles with rapidly changing emotions of shame, anger, discomfort and confusion, and the coolness of the marble against his back feels like a clean cut through all of the turmoil._

_The commotion inside the courtroom is muted by the soundproofed walls, but Trey can visualise the scene - Vil having been made to kneel in a drawn ring of gold, head hung in an uncharacteristic show of defeat. Riddle wielding his sceptre and trembling under the weight of the responsibility as he casts Vil to Hell._

_The second fallen angel._

_Trey physically jolts when he hears the sturdy footsteps of someone walking up the flight of stairs to reach the entrance of the courtroom, and he's not surprised when he sees that the angel paying a visit is Jack. There's an unreadable, foreign expression on the younger angel's face. His features are locked into an expression of what appears to be grief, an emotion not commonly seen on Jack - or any angel at all, really._

_Trey is cautious of the violent way Deuce reacted to Ace's execution not too long ago. Deuce had gone ballistic making a scene and had been insanely difficult to restrain as he thrashed around and almost kicked the door open, screaming and sobbing all the while. Having remembered this, Trey instinctively moves to stand between Jack and the door, keeping his stance as open as he can._

_"You're probably here to see Vil," Trey begins, rather cautiously - his words are stunted and quiet. "But you can't come in. It'll upset you more."_

_There is a long and unnerving silence as Jack wordlessly stares Trey down, arms crossed in defence. Jack's golden eyes seem to harbour a kind of pain and regret underneath his steely glare._

_Finally, Jack seems to hesitate before releasing a held breath. His exhale is shaky and strained. "It's alright. I know I'm too late." His forced mutter of a tone is barely audible. He sinks to the ground and visibly deflates, sitting on one of the steps and holding his head in his hands. He shakes his head as if trying to shake off a bad dream, and Trey can see Jack's shoulders rise and fall and heave._

_"I'm sorry." Trey speaks as genuinely as he feels. He takes a number of steps forward to sit beside Jack, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry it had to end like this. But you know what happens when angels break the most important rules."_

_"Yeah...I guess..." Jack's voice trails off, and Trey can't see his expression. "I guess that's just how it's meant to be. Rules are here to keep Heaven safe." But even now, his words seem to be forced and mechanical. Trey's heart hurts for him._

_"It's okay...to, uh..." Having never been able to comfort people well, Trey pauses awkwardly. "It's okay to...express your feelings...about this." He winces at his poor choice of wording in such a pivotal, important situation._ How does Kalim do this?

_"I should have helped him," Jack says. His word is laced with bitter regret. "Vil was hurting a lot. But I never knew." He takes his hands away from his face and turns to look at Trey, eyes starting to glisten with tears. "He'd always been strong. He never complained._

_It was true. Vil had always been silent in his sorrow, and despite being chastised and reprimanded for his harshness with others, he was truly as kind as one could be. He tried to help people as much as possible. He surprised people by how much he paid attention to their minute details and habits. He trained hard and spent days studying into magical alchemy and flora._

He wanted to be perfect _, Trey recalls with a strange sort of fondness._

Why would he break such an important rule? It's not like him.

_"I made a promise," Jack says, pulling Trey back into reality. "I promised to protect him."_

_"Sometimes we can't protect people from themselves." It was not the most comforting thing that could have been said, but it felt like the right thing to say._

_"Yeah. I know that now."_

_The two angels seem to sit there for an eternity, letting the heaviness of grief and unspeakable pain settle there, accompanied by a still silence more deafening than clamour. They sit there until the sun slips slowly over the horizon as Kalim and Jamil, light and darkness, spin in circles together, painting the sky a brilliant red._

_Riddle emerges from the building when the doors, having sensed his presence, automatically swings open, and Jack and Trey instinctively turn around to watch him limp towards them. The archangel looks weary and pained and uncharacteristically dishevelled as he supports himself withÂ his sceptre._

_Riddle's eyes fall on Jack, and he pauses for a long time as his mouth struggles to form words of comfort._

_"Vil's...gone now," he says finally._

_That was the first and only time Trey had ever seen Jack cry._

* * *

Jack frowns as he takes a tentative, careful step towards the angels' courtyard, ducking behind one of the conveniently placed pillars. The stone beneath his feet seem to radiate a sticky kind of coldness, and something seems to be amiss.

Jack is sure he'd heard Kalim's voice ring out from the courtyard when he'd been tied up in his room, but the space is now eerily empty and devoid of any life or light.

_Where did he go? Where did the demon take him?_

Jack realises belatedly that he should have interrogated Vil before he'd put him to sleep so that he could at least grasp the basics of the demons' plan (assuming they had one) - but there's nothing he can do now about it, and regret settles deep into his stomach.

Jack feels alone and afraid for the first time in a while, and the feeling is oddly familiar despite its unwelcomeness. He has no weapon, no guidance and no allies - yet he has to move forward.

He takes a tentative step forward, and in the split second that he glances down at the ground, he spots a single, inky black stain on the pure-white of the courtyard floor.

_Strange._

His eyes shift to follow the trail of haphazardly positioned inkblot-like drops of obsidian that taper off into the distance like a trail of breadcrumbs, and without thinking, he starts to follow the strange path, praying it will lead him somewhere.

* * *

Fingers still laced together, Jamil leads Kalim into the Enchanted Forest. The familiar sight of the poised trees with their shimmering golden colouring brings a bitter taste to Jamil's mouth. They weave between the foliage. Each vibrant branch glitters with dewdrops like a thousand diamonds, where blood-red berries hang under spindly leaves like rubies nestled beneath golden needles.

"I don't like this place," Kalim admits, still unabashedly open with his thoughts, red eyes still glowing a blinding crimson.

Jamil looks back to the Angel of Light, remembering the summer days long, long ago in which they'd linked hands and ran through the forest for no apparent reason, laughing at how stupid and silly they could be away from authority's watching eye, where the trees looked like treasures instead of threats, jewels instead of jousts.

How foolish they'd been.

How naive _Jamil_ had been.

"Me neither," Jamil replies flatly. "This place sucks."

"Then why did you take me here?" Kalim asks innocently. His eyes are wide and questioning, the colour of the technicolour-red berries.

"Never mind that," Jamil says, not bothering to lace any sweetness into his voice. "You'll understand when we get there."

"Get where?"

"Be patient." Jamil's footsteps leave inky stains in the sandy silver soil like unwanted imprints on an expensive piece of clothing.

He likes that idea of destruction.

* * *

_Leona smirks and laughs quietly to himself as he ascends to the balcony in the archival library in two big flaps of his wings, flipping himself over the golden banister to land gracefully on the solid platform. He crouches down behind the intricately woven railing to stay out of Riddle's sight. Ace and Deuce tumble down next to him, stifling their badly concealed snorts and grabbing onto each other for support._

_Even from so high up, they can hear Trey and Riddle's footsteps as they enter the library, and they wait in anticipation and rising glee._

_Jamil gazes up from the book in his hands as he sits cross-legged on the balcony banister. Leona, Ace and Deuce are hiding in his long, dark shadow - a shadow only the Angel of Darkness can cast. "What did you do this time?" he asks, calmly flipping a page._

_"Nothin'," Ace replies devilishly, flashing a smile that looks far from innocent._

_Jamil heaves a sigh, but it's clear that he doesn't care much for the trio's affinity for ganging up against the archangel. "You're going to get in trouble for that one day."_

_"Riddle could always use some loosening up," Leona replies offhandedly. "The little red prince is especially insufferable nowadays."_

_Jamil raises a skeptical eyebrow at Leona's oddly harsh tone, but says no more, turning back to his book._

_From the ground floor of the library comes a sudden unintelligible burst of screaming from Riddle, followed by Trey's distant consolations._

_"Nice," Ace grins, half-wincing from the volume of the outburst. "That's the loudest one we've heard yet."_

_"Leona! Ace! Deuce!" Riddle borderline shrieks from his position beside his desk, voice rising in pitch. The jewel on his sceptre glows so violently that the red light is cast onto the walls, visible even to the four angels on the balcony. "Explain what this outrageous and inappropriate nonsense is!"_

_Ace sobers from his delirious laughter temporarily to say, "oh, shit."_

_"What did you guys actually do?" Jamil asks imploringly with another idle flip of his page._

_"We drew fanart," comes Leona's suspiciously straightforward reply._

_"Wow, the proportions are actually really good," Trey's calm voice drifts up from the ground level._

_"Fanart? That's not so bad," Jamil muses, tapping his chin._

_"Trey, you are missing the point! This is disgusting! Our bodies do NOT twist like that! And the censor bar is completely useless!"_

_A long and uncomfortable silence sweeps over Leona, Ace and Deuce as the Angel of Darkness eyes them darkly._

_"...Never mind," Jamil sighs, turning away to rub the bridge of his nose. "I should have expected something impure like that."_

_A new voice, familiar in its cheerfulness and brightness, wafts up from the ground floor, accompanied by a literal ray of sunshine that heralds the angel's arrival. "Trey, is that a drawing you drew? Can I look at it?"_

_"Oh, I didn't draw this."_

_"Ooh, can I see it anyway?"_

_"Kalim!" Jamil immediately roars, making Leona wince. He slams his book shut, unfolds his wings and soars down within a millisecond to land right in front of the Angel of Light and slap a hand over Kalim's innocent eyes. "You don't need to see that."_

_"Ah, Jamil. Have you seen the lovely artists of this piece, by any chance?" For the first time, Jamil catches a glimpse of the proclaimed "fanart" that is so dastardly vulgar that it must be a sin. Riddle gives a smile that radiates malicious energy, and Jamil finds himself feeling slightly sorry for the culprits and the wrath awaiting them. Still smiling sweetly but bordering on insane, Riddle violently rips the drawing to pieces, and then proceeds to light the shredded bits on fire._

_"They're up there. Go get them," Jamil says with the calmness of a saint, pointing at the balcony._

_"JAMIL!" comes Ace's betrayed (and overly anguished) screech, before Deuce screams, "SCATTER!" The command is followed by the sound of wings beating furiously as the three "artists" dive out of the third-storey window._

_Jamil's hair is temporarily swept out of his face by the draft Riddle causes as he unfolds his two pairs of wings and tears after them._

_"Do they have a death wish?" Trey asks, looking slightly amused._

_"Probably," Jamil replies._

* * *

_Rook walks jovially to the entrance of the archival library with Vil and Jack loitering behind him in deep conversation, having returned from a session of picking sprigs of flora from the enchanted forest. Rook prepares himself to greet the other angels, when a sudden cacophony of chaotic noise bursts from within the walls._

_"Good lord," Vil sighs, with clear disappointment in his voice._

_"I wonder what they did this time," Jack wonders aloud. The names of the three angels primarily responsible for Riddle's rage do not need to be said aloud for everyone to know who they are._

_Vil sighs dramatically and places a hand on his hip. "I'd prefer not to find out."_

_"SCATTER!" Deuce's voice suddenly shrieks, breaking the quietness. Rook's neck snaps up to see three blurs topple out of a third-storey window. Ace and Deuce soar off in different directions screaming for their lives with a fuming Riddle close behind, whilst Leona's figure dives straight down, making a straight beeline for Rook at a rapidly increasing speed. He swoops down and barely grazes Rook's halo before braking himself and landing in front of the Angel of Love._

_"Archangel's on a rampage," Leona says. His chocolate-brown hair flops in front of his eyes as he flashes a smirk at Rook, and the simple action seems to render the blonde speechless. "He's out to get you too, by the way."_

_Rook's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Me? What did I do?"_

_"You helped with the drawings."_

_Rook nods knowingly, and he practically feel Vil and Jack's confusion boring into the back of his head. "Oh._ Those _."_

_Still smirking, Leona snakes an arm around Rook's shoulder and leans forward until his lips touch Rook's ear. "Run," he says lowly. The single word seems to curl around Rook's head and echo in his brain._

_"Where?"_

_"The forest."_

_Rook gives a teasing smile as Leona leans back. "Will I meet you there?"_

_Leona dramatically rolls his eyes. "As always." His fingers graze Rook's shoulder briefly before he flies off again, shooting towards the enchanted forest and disappearing into the distance. Rook finds himself staring after him and raising his hand to touch his shoulder._

_"Do you two always do that?" Vil asks with yet another sigh. His expression is unreadable, but there's a bitterness in his voice._

_Rook throws a genuine smile in Vil's direction and holds his arms out as if announcing something grand. "Yes, we do. It's kind of like a promise. And vows are always beautiful, are they not?"_

_Vil and Jack's eyes flicker towards each other in a split second of recognition, and they simultaneously edge closer together before they look back at Rook. The unplanned coordination of the movement is enough to make Rook smile again blissfully._

_"I suppose so," Vil replies finally. "Well, aren't you going to go after Leona?"_

_"I always do," Rook answers poetically, and unfolds his wings to follow Leona's trail._

* * *

Rook lies still and silent, keeping his breathing even. He's ridiculously tempted to wriggle easily out of his mercifully loose constraints, but he can almost feel the demon's eyes on him, making his skin feel prickly and strange.

"I know you're awake, you know."

Rook freezes and fights the unrecognisable emotion that floods him when he hears the familiar voice. _Leona._

He hears the soft, tepid stepping of the demon's strides as he nears the edge of the bed. 

"Not very convincing, your acting." Rook can _hear_ the smirk in Leona's voice, the little smug triumph. Leona loves to win - he loves to be number one, and he loves to tease and irritate whoever was higher than him in status or ranking. 

"Sit up."

Leona loves being in control.

It had seemed so loveable and strangely adorable, the pride and stubbornness he'd radiated so easily.

It feels dark now.

Rook obeys, swivelling and pushing himself to sit with his legs hanging down the side of his bed with very little struggle. A cold hand is placed under his chin, forcing his head up, and Rook can feel the brush of Leona's fingers at the back of his scalp as he unties the blindfold from Rook's eyes. The fabric drops from his face. Rook finds himself gazing into the impenetrable emerald stones of Leona's eyes.

"Explain," Rook says immediately. He can't tell if the emotion is fury or betrayal or just _hurt_.

"There's a lot to talk about, Rook." The way Leona says his name suddenly sounds like a curse, and Rook hates it.

"What did you do with the other angels?" Rook demands.

Leona's expression remains detached from emotion as he plays with the blindfold like a cat with a ribbon. "Why do you think we did something to them?"

Rook keeps his voice even. "You tied me up, if that isn't enough evidence."

Leona leans forward so that his face is an inch away from Rook's. "I could have done much worse," he says softly.

"So why didn't you?" the angel asks.

Leona presses his lips tightly together as he unwinds the silken rope around Rook's ankles and wrists. Rook knows that he can easily remove them himself by simply moving the right way, but he lets the demon's hands skitter around his limbs, brush his skin, moving with that familiar attractive confidence. 

Enough time passes to let Rook know that Leona isn't going to answer the question.

Leona drops the ropes by Rook's foot and locks eyes with the angel, two pairs of leaf green orbs battling each other out.

"Run," Leona says, fixing Rook with a hard, mechanical gaze.

Rook's heart drops to his feet, and he can hear the urgency and fear concealed under Leona's monotone. "Where?"

And the familiar reply comes immediately. "The forest."

"Will I meet you there?" Rook asks imploringly.

"....No. Not this time." Leona turns his back to Rook for the first time in a while, the matted, loose braid of his long hair swinging in sync with his tail. "I don't think I'll be seeing you again in a while."

Rook's eyebrows arch together. A strange and dull ache zips through his bones. His eyes trail from the back of Leona's head down to the pocket of the demon's leather pants, where a golden chain swings, attached to a single charm of a bow and arrow.

_Wait._

"Hey, that's m-"

Rook doesn't finish his sentence as Leona disappears in a cloud of charcoal ashes like sand, leaving only wisps of smoke vaguely shaped like the negative space curled around his figure. 

* * *

"Rook!" Jack is too exhausted and overcome with emotion to hide the elation in his voice when he spots the familiar angel crouched at the foot of a pillar.

Rook's head swings around at such a great speed that it looks as if he's going to snap his neck. His guarded posture immediately relaxes. "Jack!" A look of relief sweeps over the older angel's features as he hurries over to Jack in a rushed and haphazard sort of reunion.

Rook's oftentimes intruding and eerily knowing gaze had always irritated Jack, but as Rook sweeps his eagle-eyes over him and flies in slow, delicate circles around him, seemingly checking for injuries, Jack can't help but feel a sense of relief. Despite his unwelcome eccentricity, Rook is still responsible and, ultimately, trustworthy.

"You don't look like you have any injuries at all." Rook doesn't hide the surprise in his tone of voice before he scrutinises Jack's facial expression. "How do you feel? Any pain, any discomfort? Did Vil hurt you?"

"No." Jack clenches and unclenches a fist, remembering the static rush and adrenaline of fighting a demon more powerful than him, the strange mood swings from elation to fear to dread to nostalgia to crippling guilt coursing through his veins until Vil had finally given up. To the best of his ability, Jack relays this information to Rook, leaving out his own feelings for Vil, still unrecognisable.

"What?" Rook's eyes narrow to slits. "Vil never gives up."

There it is again - the strange, unwelcome yet familiar stirring of emotions that settles into Jack's chest. "You speak about him like you know him super well. Is there...?"

Rook shakes his head and blinks, as if trying to rid a memory. He looks up at Jack's earnest expression and releases a sigh.

"If we get out of this alive, I'll tell you," he says with a serious finality. "You and Deuce and Kalim ought to know."

If nothing else, that promise alone is enough to keep Jack moving.

The two angels turn to glance at the ink stains like patches of darkness littered across the white ground.

"That...leads to Kalim," Jack explains shortly.

Without a moment's hesitation, Rook draws an arrow, holding it ready in his hand, and soars off to follow the trail. Jack follows suit, letting thoughts of Vil slip behind him like the wind rushing past his ears.

* * *

_Fallen angel, digging the dirt_

_Fallen angel, what is the word_

_Fallen angel, down to the bone_

_Fallen angel, now you're alone_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	8. belated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, it's me, back again (-u-)  
> it feels like I've been writing this for an atrociously long time when there's only 8 CHAPTERS (which surprised me). it feels like I've been dragging out this story when really the plot has been advancing at ridiculous speeds. had I known what an abrupt ride this would be I would have definitely stretched out the chapters...
> 
> also hopefully this chapter makes you very sad. (^u^)

_Fallen angel, fallen angel_

_Well I guess you were no angel after all_

_Fallen angel, fallen angel_

_You always take us with you when you fall_

* * *

Jamil doesn't know how long it's been. The sight of the Enchanted Forest leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He hates this place. He hates the beauty and brightness of this. He hates how it's full of light and laughter. He especially hates how everyone loves it.

There is, however, one cursed spot amongst of the sparkles and sunshine. Jamil stops directly in front of it.

"We're here."

Kalim's head swings around to face Jamil, and he offers a smile. "Hmm? Where?"

His glowing red eyes settle down on an enormous hole in front of them like someone's carved out a chunk of Heaven and left the emptiness there. Had Kalim not been under mind control, he would have undoubtedly ran for it. Even an idiot like him is able to sense how menacing the pit is.

Jamil peers into the pit, the view already making him nauseous. It's a deep and endless cavern gouged from the earth, open like the yawning jaw of a beast. Its walls are made of smoothed-over shards of bedrock. Spiny brambles and knobbled roots like swords and clubs protrude from the sides, stretching all the way down to its invisible bottom.

It looks like a death trap waiting for a victim.

He remembers flying all the way down to the heart of the pit, carefully and painstakingly avoiding all of the obstacles obscuring his path, lowering himself for what felt like forever before he found Kalim there. 

He _hates_ that memory. It digs into his skull.

And it's all Kalim's fault.

Jamil lets go of Kalim's hand. The angel glances at him with no apparent emotion. Jamil knows that Kalim is unable to feel anything under the hypnosis, but the blank stare unnerves him anyhow. He steers Kalim backwards by the shoulders to the edge of the pit. Kalim calmly backpedals until the heel of his boots almost tip over the edge. The soil crumbles a little under his feet, but Jamil keeps him steady. 

He stares into the soulless eyes of his once best friend. _How strange fate is, to tear us apart like that._

"Goodbye, Kalim," he says softly.

He expects the same emotionless expression to stay on Kalim’s face, but to his alarm, it doesn’t.

As if snapped out of a trance, Jamil’s words seem to trigger the angel into movement. Displaying the first self-regulated action in a while, Kalim blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eye, and a panic rises up in Jamil when the angel's eyes stop glowing its malicious red and return to normal, unharmed and under no control.

_How did he— My magic should be stronger than him!_

Recognition and innocent confusion is etched into Kalim's features as he stares at him.

Not the way an angel looks at a demon. The way an angel looks at another angel.

"Jamil?" he asks tentatively.

Jamil is immediately hit by a wave of fear that numbs his limbs. He almost steps back and turns to run, but shock keeps him rooted.

_Does he remember?_

Usually eloquent, his words spew out in a heap. "What? You weren't supposed to- I had you under control."

Kalim holds a hand to his forehead and winces, as if suppressing a memory, and his voice comes out as a mumble. "I wanted to say goodbye."

Jamil knows he's not referring to the present.

_Of course you did. Do you think I didn't hear you, making a fuss outside of the Hall of Trial? Do you think I wasn't straining to hear your voice before I was cast down?_ His hands tighten their grip on the fabric resting on Kalim’s shoulder. He wants to say these things. He wants to scream them. But he can’t, he can’t do anything.

The thought of that kills him.

Jamil raises his hands to trace Kalim's features, wondering if he'll remember him. Wondering if he'll remember Kalim's laugh, and the way he always forgave others. The way he'd get excited over the stupidest things. The way he’d go out of his way to help others and how he made friends with everyone who looked in his direction.

The way he was loved and appreciated and praised.

Something inside Jamil hardens and sits like a cold stone in his heart, and contempt replaces the nostalgia.

If he doesn’t do it now, he never will.

“Goodbye, then," he says monotonously.

"Wait-"

But Jamil doesn't wait any longer - he knows he'll regret it if he does. He gives Kalim a hard shove.

Kalim's feet slip out from under him and his hands fly forwards as if to hold on to something - and then he falls, toppling and tumbling backwards into the enormous pit, silenced by his shock.

Jamil immediately turns to leave, fist pressed to his lips as if trying to hold in something.

He can't stay here any longer.

He hopes his emotions and memories die with Kalim.

He doesn't want to hurt ever again.

* * *

_The ten-metre-high double doors slam shut with a thunderous crash behind Riddle and Jamil as the archangel escorts the perpetrator into the Hall of Trial. The reverb of the sound echoes with a strict finality. Jamil's footsteps leave inky black stains on the pure white marble that fade out of sight beyond the locked doors._

_Another angel. The third one so far._

_Rook stands guard beside one of the pillars with an unreadable expression on his face that mirrors his own convoluted feelings._

_The Hall of Trial looms like a beast._

_Trey had turned to ask Rook to police the scene after he'd, all of a sudden, refused to be the guard for Jamil's trials. It seems that the previous trial - Vil's - had affected him in some shape or form._

Vil. _Rook's eyes cloud over as he thinks of the ever hardworking, diligent, beautiful angel that was Vil. They'd been close friends for enough years now - at least, as close as Vil would let anyone get. Close enough to have Vil’s execution affect Rook._

_There had always been an instability and insecurity fixed within the role of being an Angel of Beauty._

_Rook just hadn't anticipated that Vil would succumb to it._

It's not like any of this is easy for any of us. Nobody wants to send an angel down.

_Suddenly sensing movement in the air, Rook's bright green eyes dart up as he spots a rush of warm colour speed towards him from the horizon on enormous wings, and he immediately rises to catch Kalim from crashing into one of the pillars. For a second, everything spins in slow motion as the Angel of Light barricades hard into Rook, sending the both of them skidding. Rook's back hits the doors, wings crushing into the steel by the force of Kalim's speed._

_Kalim is shrieking like a madman, words that sound like gibberish before Rook takes a moment to reset and actually register what he's saying._

_"Where's Jamil? Where's Jamil, where is he?!" Kalim's arms thrash around, fists hitting whatever's in his reach. "I NEED to see him. Where's Jamil?!"_

_Rook tightens his grip around Kalim and his slippery silk robes, which is similar to handling an overgrown tantrum-throwing toddler. Being much stronger than the younger angel, he secures him firmly. Gritting his teeth, he tries to avoid putting pressure on Kalim's many bandaged wounds._

_Despite the aching sympathy that snakes into Rook's chest, he remains stern and business-like, hardening his features. "Kalim, I need you to calm down. You're already hurt."_

_The physical pain means nothing to Kalim, and both of them know that._

_Tears stream down Kalim's face as he continues squirming and fighting and screaming like his life depends on it. "Let me see him, please! I need to see him one last time, please please please! There's so much I haven't said!" His choked-out words blend into an almost indecipherable mash of sound._

_There is so much pain and regret and suffering in his hysterical wailing that Rook is almost tempted to let him go and see Jamil. But even if he wants to, there's no way to open the doors._

_There’s always so much love between the fallen angels and the angels they get separated from, and Rook feels it like it's his own._

_That was one of the many ailments that addles the Angel of Love. He felt everyone's love, but also everyone's heartbreak._

_"You don't understand, you don't understand, nobody does! I need to see him! Please, please, please-"_

_"Kalim." Rook moves his head to the right as one of Kalim's rapidly swinging arms comes near his face. He speaks lowly as Kalim's tormented screaming ebbs away to wracking sobs, exhausted. "Believe me when I say that you are not the only one who has gone through something like this.”_

_“But—“_

_“There is pain within losing someone you love, but it is for the greater good. And casting down angels is something Riddle must do, regardless of whether he wants to or not. Do you understand? There's nothing we can do." Rook swallows a lump in his throat. His own words taste foreign on his tongue._

_Kalim's thrashing slows considerably._

_"I am not saying that you are not allowed to hurt," Rook continues on lowly. "For the next two days you will feel tortured and wretched. That is something we will have to deal with together. But understand that this is a sacrifice we have to make to be a part of the council. We have always given our time and magic and work to other angels, to peace, and to the humans. Sometimes we also have to give our own hearts as well."_

_"But Jamil..." Kalim's voice trails off._

_Rook's eyebrows furrow together. "This is difficult to bear, but this is reality.”_

_Kalim, trembling, throws his arms around Rook and squeezes him tightly, crying into his shoulder like a child. "I didn't even get to say goodbye! I wanted to say goodbye!" he howls._

_Rook pats him on the back, pushing back his own tears. "I know. I'm sorry."_

_Kalim softens into a weak and limp heap, crying so hard that his whole body shakes. "I wanted to say goodbye."_

* * *

Kalim feels like he's been wading through a dark slump. His brain and eyes are fogged over, as if obscured by a dark mist. He doesn't feel anything at all - no emotions, no thoughts, no feelings. The only thing he senses is as if his limbs are being manoeuvred. His mouth opens to spit out words he isn't even thinking about. It seems to go on for an eternity. It isn't uncomfortable - it feels like nothing, but also eerily familiar.

He bets this is what brainwashing feels like - like wandering through the cosmos.

It feels like he's been sleeping, sleeping forever, when suddenly two words cut through the sludgy darkness like the blade of a knife.

"Goodbye, Kalim."

A rip of light tears through his mind. The fog starts to clear.

Why do those words have so much feeling attached to them?

_Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye._

The smokescreen in front of his eyes fades to nothing until he can feel his limbs again, his heart beating, his mouth moving, all of them controlled by himself. The weight of his body is back. It hurts.

_I wanted to say goodbye,_ he thinks through the pain.

And he sees the figure of a demon standing in front of him, a demon with dark red horns twisted outwards like a ram's and a forked tail and a flip of shiny hair in front of one eye. A demon whose face he's seen in rapid confusing dreams in the form of someone he's known. 

_I wanted to say goodbye...to Jamil._

Kalim's face contorts into an expression of recognition and confusion. His vision is still blurred but he's never seen clearer in his life. "Jamil?" It's like a tentative call into the darkness. His name is so painfully familiar to say that Kalim almost starts to cry.

Fear and confusion immediately cloud Jamil's features. "What? You weren't supposed to- I had you under control."

A fresh tear slides out of one scarlet eye, no longer glowing from mind control. "I wanted to say goodbye."

Jamil's fingertips trail over Kalim's face like a sculpture memorising his subject and Kalim feels like they could stay like this forever.

A warm touch before a cold sentence, devoid of any emotion: "goodbye, then."

_Huh?_

"Wait—“ Kalim's entire body lurches, suddenly. He's being pushed backwards and he stumbles, skidding on his heels, tipping over. His back meets thin air.

And he's falling.

Falling, falling, falling, falling forever.

* * *

Vil hasn't slept in a long time.

Sometimes he forgets what it feels like.

It feels like darkness. It feels like detachment. An escape, almost.

But even in his sleep, he can't escape himself.

He dreams of mirrors, a thousand of them, surrounding him and scrutinising him from every angle.

He's an angel in his dream, with his beautiful white wings like an enormous dove's, albino peacock feathers hanging from the hem of his dress and trailing behind his heeled feet. Halter-necked bodice whiter than his own skin, soft like cotton and silk. His blonde hair, almost glowing, wrapped into a braided crown that hangs by his neck. He looks at himself from every angle, staring hard at the parts of this appearance that he so resents now. His reflections flash and ripple like the foggy surface of a lake.

_"Mirror, mirror, tell me, am I the most beautiful one of all?"_ His voice echoes in the hall.

He waits for an answer as he stares straight ahead at the mirror in front of him. Hours must have passed before the mirror answers - but time is always warped in dreams.

_"No."_ The reply is final and booming. _"You are not. You are deceiving, selfish, lustful, and a disease. You gave yourself to people who used and manipulated you."_

A shadow casts over the room; his reflections turn dark. Twisted. A thousand incubi stare back at him, hands stained black. He’s looking at himself, he knows that, but his own reflection is a stranger.

_I’m so ugly._

He wants to cry.

_"Stop,"_ Vil commands, to no avail.

_"You will not be beautiful until you believe yourself to be."_

_"What? That's ridiculous."_

_“If you cannot accept it, nobody can.”_

The darkness caves open a cavern below his feet. Vil topples down headfirst.

* * *

"Vil! Oi!"

It's the impatient and brash nagging that rouses Vil out of his slumber. He'd be almost grateful if the first thing he didn't see was Leona's condescending glare.

Leona clucks out a " _tch_ " as Vil, still drowsy and sore, sits himself up with effortless-looking grace. "Sleeping on the job?"

"Angry that I'm invading your line of work?" Vil's head throbs with the side effect of his potion. He feels like he's suspended above the earth, even though he can feel the soft bedsheets under his body, and the blanket draped over him.

Leona frowns, picks up Vil's wrist and lowers his face into it.

"What are you doing?" Vil asks coolly, momentarily breaking out of his drunken trance to snatch his wrist back.

"Did Jack use your special little apple smoke on you?" Leona accuses.

"What?"

"You didn't kill him, did you?" Half-enveloped in shadow, Leona's usual scowl has no readable emotion attached to it. 

Vil's eyes widen slightly. A familiar feeling of shame and hatred swirls like smoke into him. He keeps his head held up high.

Having caught Vil by surprise, Leona's lips curl into a smirk for a second before his face falls bitter again. “You know, I’ve had enough of your prissy ass bossing me around, pretending you know everything about me," he growls, taking a step back to lean against the wall and cross his arms. Vil fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Truth is, we're the same."

Vil subconsciously crosses his own arms to rub his pale skin. "I'm _nothing_ like you," he spits, teeth gritted.

"Of course you are. Quit being so defensive."

Leona glares at Vil, who glares back with equal intensity.

The Demon of Hatred starts pacing slow circles around the room. "We were both cast down from Heaven because we hated the roles we'd been assigned, the stupid labels of being angel of this or angel of that," he begins. Vil breathes in sharply, already hating every word that spills from Leona's mouth. "As angels, we were both trying to do something for ourselves in the guise of helping others because we were too selfish to admit that we wanted to gain something. We were both prideful and stupid because of our insecurity of feeling inferior."

Vil wishes Leona could shut the fuck up. He despises everything that he says because it's as hurtful as it is true. It's like being scolded as a child, being singled out. Being villainised.

Vil _hates_ being villainised.

Leona turns to face Vil, staring him down with frightening harshness. "We were both humiliated and defeated in the end. Not only because we were cast down, but also because we could never be number one and we failed to accept that."

The room falls silent. Leona's words penetrate Vil's skin like needles.

Leona gives a sarcastic bow. "Hope you enjoyed that riveting speech."

Vil's hand tightens and squeezes the bedsheets until his black-stained knuckles turn pale. An eternity seems to pass before he releases his crushing grip.

"You're more intelligent than I thought," he says finally.

"How dumb do you think I am?"

"Extremely."

Leona scowls in response.

"You know what else we have in common?" Vil announces airily. "We were both ridiculously foolish because we let our angels go."

He lets the weight of his words settle in.

Leona puffs out an inhale, sending a stray curl to fly up before landing back on his face. "So you know I let Rook leave?"

"Of course. You shouldn't underestimate me, either." In spite of himself, a small and satisfied smile graces Vil's lips. Throwing his blanket aside, he stands up to meet Leona's eye. His tone becomes demeaning. "You could have killed Rook so easily. He's such a foolish angel. If you told him you didn't want him anymore he'd die on the spot."

"No, he wouldn't," Leona snaps back immediately. "He's smarter and stronger than that."

Vil knew that, of course. He knew Rook just as well as Leona did. "Why didn't you kill Rook?" he asks.

"Presumably the same reason as to why you didn't kill Jack," comes the uncharacteristically quiet response.

Vil says nothing in reply.

"Don't worry. You don't have to say it, because I won't." Leona strides to the bed, throws his hand behind his head and flops onto the mattress. "We're obviously too full of ourselves to admit anything like that."

"Obviously." Vil looks down at Leona as he closes his eyes, apparently planning to sleep. The prideful and crass demon he'd had the misfortune of being in the presence of for years and years suddenly seems less far away than he'd initially imagined.

Vil has no idea how they're going to continue on like this, going nowhere and hurting everywhere.

But, for some reason, he doesn't feel too alone anymore.

* * *

_Fallen angel, fallen angel_

_Well I guess you were no angel after all_

_Fallen angel, fallen angel_

_You always take us with you when you fall_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading. your support means everything to me. (^ ^)  
> if you're someone who still sticks around after my painfully irregular updates thank you so much for reading on despite it!  
> if you're someone who just discovered this little thing welcome aboard!   
> until next time~


	9. duty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, so I've miraculously NOT taken half a year to update! here is the next installation! (^ ^)  
> so, I lied with having no more fun and cute flashbacks. adeuce is too cute for me.  
> apologies if this chapter's a bit jolty or weird, I'm pretty brain-dead...

_These broken halos all fall away_

_These spoken hymnals all sound the same_

_These fallen angels, they've crawled through hell_

_They know a secret, but they'll never tell_

* * *

_I did it._

Jamil’s figure cuts through the glimmering shine of the Enchanted Forest, a rippling of stains and darkness, as he stalks out between the trees.

 _I really did it_. For some reason, he feels delirious and he wants to laugh, send out ripple after ripple of cackling, but at the same time, he’s exhausted. There’s nothing left in him.

It takes minutes for him to emerge from the forest, battering aside glittering golden branches, and float upon the stretched-out field of clouds, a bright joyful white now stained dark and battered.

Before he goes to deal with the other demons, he turns back around, crouches down at the boundary line where field meets forest digs his fingers into the silver soil. The ground is warm and soft, welcoming to all but one.

Concentrating with all of the energy he has left, he presses a deep scarring wound into the perfection of the place, driving all of his hatred and bitterness and envy into the soil. He feels his black magic surge out from his veins and down his arms and into the ground, moving like slinking shadows.

The entire forest heaves. Inky darkness spreads like wildfire, like a visible disease, climbing up the roots and trunks of every tree like a parasite. It worms into the cores of the flora there, leaving the golden firs and pines as wilted, keeled over bony corpses. They bend and creak like pitch black bodies.

Breathing heavily, Jamil stumbles to his feet, not bothering to look back at the destruction he’s caused. 

He used to love this place. More than anywhere else in the world.

Jamil pulls his hood over his head. His shadow stretches long behind him.

* * *

_"Deeuuuuce!"_

_Deuce is lying on the slab of rock in the middle of the Enchanted Forest, starfished on the warmth of it, staring up at the sky framed by the arms of the trees. The sunset sends peals of bright whimsical colour to stain the sky rich reds and purples and pinks. If he squints, he can see Jamil and Kalim swirling together around in the sky as day and night cross over for a second - their unity is unmatched and horribly envying._

_"Deuce?"_

_His name gets called again by his favourite voice in the entire world (an irritating one, he'll admit, but he doesn't love the owner any less), and a grinning redheaded angel pops into his sight._

_"What are you doing?" Ace asks as he flops down beside Deuce. Deuce's skin tingles where Ace's arm brushes his._

_"Thinking," Deuce replies._

_"Fascinating. Didn't know you could do that."_

_Deuce flashes Ace a withering look and swats at his arm, and Ace releases an embarrassingly high-pitched laugh and ducks away._

_"The sunset's...really nice," Deuce murmurs. He's never been good with his words and he wishes he could describe the way he feels about things he loves, but he knows that Ace understands. They've grown up together, after all - there's little that they don't know about each other._

_Ace's reply is a small hum, which signals to Deuce that he isn't in the best of moods. Deuce rolls onto his stomach so that he can look down at Ace, who stares impassively at the setting sun with no discernible expression._

_"You okay?" Deuce asks softly._

_"Yeah." Ace smiles again, but it seems a little cracked and forced. "Just tired."_

_Deuce lets Ace close his eyes and drift off for a bit, and he doesn't take his eyes off his best friend's face. Ace's eyelashes are long enough to cast shadows on his cheekbones - there's a scar signalling where he flew directly into a glass wall imprinted on his forehead. His fair skin is sprinkled with a sparse smattering of freckles._

_"Ace."_

_"Mm?"_

_"Do you like your role? As Angel of Happiness?"_

_Ace's eyes flutter open and he looks to his side, eyeing Deuce. "It has its ups and downs."_

_Every role in Heaven does - that's just part of wielding so much power._

_"Wanna talk about it?" Deuce plays with the long, dense feathers of Ace's wings, stroking the softness between his fingers._

_Ace somehow manages to shrug while still lying down. "Nothing you don't know about."_

_They fall into a comfortable sort of silence. Deuce supports himself with one elbow to stroke the wing more, revelling in the fluffiness of it. Ace's wings reflexively curl up, and Deuce can feel the movement of muscle rippling under the feathers._

_"Are you happy all of the time?" he asks. "Since you represent happiness?"_

_"If wanna ask if I need to be happy all the time, then you're right. But if you're asking if I'm genuinely happy..." Ace sighs deeply and he looks conflicted. "Rook's the Angel of Love and he still hates some things. Riddle's the Angel of Order but he goes insane sometimes. And you're the Angel of Morality but you still do dumb, evil shit."_

_Deuce is too concentrated on the Ace's feelings to register the playful insult. He watches his own fingers dip and move on Ace's feathers and wonders what would happen if he moved closer, if he trailed his hands up to Ace's skin. "I'm sorry if you're not happy now."_

_The other angel rolls onto his stomach to mirror Deuce, propping his chin on his hands, and Deuce snatches his hand away._ _"Nope. I'm happy. With you."_

_Ace closes his eyes again in contentment and Deuce, at this moment, knows that Ace isn't just a friend to him, and the realisation comes in to him in a dull ache. He wants to run his fingers through his copper-red hair and hold his hand. He wants to spend more sunsets like this, lying in the fields with nothing but each other and light conversation. He wants to look at Ace the way that he sees the other council members look at each other._

_Happiness and morality. They don't exactly go together in a roundabout and distinct way like light and darkness does, but then again, other pairs in the council like love and victory, or beauty and protection, or order and luck, don't precisely slot together either. But they made it work._

_"What are you thinking about now, wrinkly-brain?" Ace asks, eyes still closed. He likes the warmth of the sun of his face - Deuce knows this because when they were young Ace would refuse to sit in the shade, whining like a toddler about it._

_"I'm thinking," Deuce replies seriously, eyebrows scrunched together, "that you have the most important role as an angel."_

_Ace's mouth curls into a pleased smile, obviously flattered by the compliment. "Thanks, but I'm not the archangel, am I?"_

_"Still." Deuce fumbles with his words a little as he tries to carry across what he's been running over in his brain. "Happiness is at the root of everything that humans and angels try to get. So it's really the most important - like, it kind of ties everything together."_

_"I don't think I'm that important to everyone."_

_"You're important to me."_

_Ace's eye cracks open, and then the other one follows suit. His face is pleasantly flushed and he looks almost uncharacteristically bashful, which is too adorable for Deuce to deal with. "You're a weird one, Deuce."_

_Deuce smiles obligingly as Ace gets to his feet and sighs. His wings flutter around him like a shield, almost obscuring his entire body, which is what Ace does whenever he's embarrassed. He can't help but tease him with a taunting line of,_ _"wow, so shy, Ace."_

_Ace's wings fold back immediately, although he still looks somewhat self-conscious. He reaches out a hand to Deuce with a cocked eyebrow. In the setting sun he's never looked so glorious, and Deuce's mind wipes blank._

_"Come on, silly," Ace says, flashing a devilish grin, "I'll take you home."_

* * *

Deuce has never been so grateful to see the light of day.

He feels like he’s been wandering around in the tunnels with Ace forever, and when the demon taps on a crack at a dead end and the stone slides away to reveal a fluffy expanse of cloud, relief and pride floods his body.

“Well, we did it,” Ace announces with a little less fire in his tone.

"Yeah," Deuce answers softly.

For the past who-knows-how-long, Deuce has been tormented with Ace’s presence - Ace moves like hot fire and energy and he feels so painfully familiar it almost hurts. He absently swings a hand in the demon’s direction but snatches it back before his fingers touch Ace’s.

He has no idea what to do now and he's never felt so lost. Stepping out into the fluffy clouds and seeing the clean-cut buildings of Heaven rising like pearl giants in the distance, he knows what he _should_ do. His brain tells him to bring Ace to Riddle so that the demon can be dealt with accordingly. His heart tells him not to. 

They stand there silently as Deuce thinks, but Ace doesn't seem to mind - his flame-red eyes stare into the distance like he's trying to recall something. 

Whenever Deuce feels conflicted, he always listens to his morals - and they always answer to him, pointing him down the right direction like a handy road sign. But in this moment, his usually receptive inner voice stays silent, as if daring him to make the decision himself - daring Deuce, this notoriously stupid and thick-headed idiot to make a smart decision for once.

"Aight. Well, it's been a pleasure." Ace links his hand together behind his head, his tone nonchalant.

Deuce sighs. "This is where we part ways," he announces dismally.

Ace spins around and chuckles at Deuce's downcast expression. "Aww, are you gonna miss me?"

He watches Deuce stay silent for a while longer as confliction crosses the angel's face in a ripple.

"I feel like I've been missing you for a long time already." Deuce says this in utmost seriousness, and he stares hard at Ace to discern his reaction.

Ace looks like he's going to choke for a second and his eyes double in size before he laughs again. His laugh is kind of high-pitched, Deuce realises. "You're a weird one."

The phrase suddenly makes Deuce smile - it reminds him of warmth and sunsets and soft wings. At this point, he's not going to try to decipher his emotions anymore - they've become a jumbled mess and a knot of chaos around Ace for whatever reason. He's just going to enjoy the good emotions and power through the bad ones.

He watches as Ace's long red-black tail wraps around himself as if he's shielding himself from something. It's kind of cute, Deuce thinks.

Ace reaches out a hand, laughing, and Deuce looks at the obsidian-stained skin that cover the demon's hand in splotches and speckles.

"Come on, silly," Ace says, flashing a smile, "I'll take you home."

* * *

_When Rook goes to meet Leona in the forest after a long meeting, something immediately feels off._

_Leona's back is to Rook and even though he can't see Leona's facial expression, the muscles in his back are pulled tight and his breathing is shallow and irritated. Leona doesn't even turn around to greet Rook or say one of his cynical little one-liners._

_It's midday and the sun beats down on the forest, sending the bejewelled trees ablaze. The sparkles almost blind Rook - he's never seen the forest so unappealing before._

_"Leona?"_

_"If you weren't the Angel of Love, would you even love me?"_

_The question is immediately thrown out of the blue at Rook, and he's slightly taken aback at how urgent and confused Leona's tone of voice is._

_He stands rooted in his place, questioning, but Leona still doesn't turn around._ _"That's a ridiculous question! Of course I would!" he blanches._

_Leona throws a steely look over his shoulder. "You know I can't give you anything, right?"_

_Rook's eyebrows shoot up at the coldness of Leona's words. "Leona. Where's all of this coming from? If you need to talk, we should-"_

_"Doesn't matter," Leona's voice growls._

_"Yes, it does." Rook marches up to Leona and stands in front of him, meeting his emerald gaze with one of his own. His doesn't rush his words and speaks quietly. "I don't want you to feel like you're any less special or important or beautiful just because love is part of my job. I don't want you to feel like this relationship is a business deal, because it's not. I love you and I always will. In another universe, even if my job is the furthest thing from love, I would not love you any less. And if we get reincarnated into other lives, I'd still find you and love you."_

_When Leona doesn't reply, Rook continues, "and you don't owe me anything - you don't need to give me anything other than your raw and unfiltered being. You don't need to pretend and you don't need to gift me anything else but yourself, because that's what I'm here for. You and only you." He imploringly looks at Leona for any sign of change. "Okay?" he asks gently._

_Leona's shoulders sag suddenly and he wipes a hand across his face. "Alright. I'm sorry."_

_"You have nothing to apologise for. I'm happy we addressed it." Rook opens his arms invitingly and Leona falls into them._

_At that moment, Rook should have seen the signs - the discomfort and fear and hatred that would begin to rise up in Leona, an expression startlingly similar to Ace's and Vil's and Jamil's. He should have asked why Leona was suddenly so afraid, so distrusting, so bitter._

_But he did not. And that would come to haunt him soon._

* * *

In the quiet darkness of the archangel’s room, Riddle’s sea-grey eyes drowsily open.

He’s rolled around in his sleep and is starfished on the floor - rolling his eyes to the right, he spots Trey’s green head in his peripheral, eerily still and silent.

Skin tingling on the cold marble floor, Riddle stiffens when he senses a change in the atmosphere, a sudden opening in the energy-crushing dark magic that rattles him to his bones. He doesn't think twice about why the demons' magic had faltered, but he can easily guess that they've somehow been weakened. 

He bites down on his lip to make himself stay awake - the minuscule action already takes up ridiculous amounts of his energy.

Looking up, he sees the thing that awakened him: the blood red jewel lodged in the middle of his sceptre, lying a number of feet away, glowing a brilliant scarlet.

Riddle grits his teeth and uses all of his strength to push himself up into a sitting position. His arms protest and shake, trembling under the weight of lifting his own body. It feels like a million thorny vines have wormed their way under his skin and tightened around every muscle, squeezing until Riddle’s limbs are numb and bleeding. The second Riddle manages to sit himself up, he immediately slips and falls down again onto his front.

_I have to get to the others._

He reasserts himself, releases a shaky exhale, and half-crawls, half-drags himself across the floor. Every time he raises an arm, he feels like he could die with strain. Frustration and pain make tears prick in his eyes.

His head almost drops to the floor. It feels heavy. _Stay awake. Stay awake._

It takes several excruciatingly slow minutes for Riddle to land in front of his sceptre.

He extends an arm and closes his fingers around it.

Immediately, a surge of energy ripples through his body - relief and power hit him so suddenly he almost stumbles back. Magic courses through his veins. His muscles loosen and embrace their regained strength; the fog around his brain disappears.

Riddle immediately rises to his feet, gripping his sceptre with both hands, regret and agitation making way for determination.

He turns to the sealed door, raises his arms, and, feeling the churning tide of emotion and power, blasts the most intense sphere of magic he’s ever conjured at it, as hard as he can.

He feels his body topple backwards by the force of it all. Using so much magical energy is enough to make his head throb and his limbs sore; he coughs once and speckles of blood drop onto the floor. He hates feeling like this, like a weak and useless rag doll who can't even live up to his role as archangel.

The door, strong and pulsing with blackness for so long, suddenly shakes.

The sight stirs up something in him. Breathing heavily, he erects a protective force field around Trey's body to shield him from the blasts.

“Again,” he mutters through gritted teeth, pointing his sceptre at the door.

He doesn’t care if he dies.

The angel council are out there.

* * *

Ace feels a stabbing pain in his chest like the blade of a knife.

“Ghh—!” Wincing, he collapses to the floor in a weakened heap in a movement so sudden he even surprises himself. It feels like someone’s socked him in the gut twenty times over, and he struggles to make sense of things through the pain.

“Ace?”

_Shit. Riddle’s trying to break out. How did he—_

Another stab. This one shakes him to his bones and electrocutes him in places he didn't know he even had nerves. He lets out a pained grunt.

“Ace!” Deuce’s voice is thick with worry, and before Ace can spit out a lame excuse or struggle back to his feet, Deuce drops to his knees beside him. “What happened? Where does it hurt?” He sounds panicked and his voice stutters as he gingerly touches Ace’s arm, as if he’s delicate.

 _Heh, typical Deuce_ , Ace manages to think before the stabbing pain comes again. The juxtaposition of the sharp, harsh discomfort and anguish with the soft cushioning of clouds under his body twists into a sensory overload.

Somehow, Ace manages to push the constant assault of agony and Deuce's babbling, frantic words aside so that he can think. Ace had ripped out parts of himself to seal that room shut, and Riddle's now going at it like a madman with anger issues - exactly what he is, anyway. A couple of calculations whizz through his brain. He knows exactly what will happen to him if his magic is abused and dished out generously - the thought of those consequences make him shake. _Shit, I shouldn't have used to much fucking magic. I'm going to have nothing left._

"Ace? _Ace!_ "

 _I’m going to have to kill Deuce_.

The realisation comes and bubbles into a sick feeling of dread in his stomach so violent he wants to throw up, and it comes whilst the stabs of pain come again and again, jolting his entire body and leaving him numb and on fire all at once - _way to kick a man when he’s down_ , he thinks.

He’s going to have to kill Deuce because there’s no way out of this mess that he’s gotten himself into, no way out of the inevitable outcome of hatred and bitterness from the other demons if he doesn’t go through with it. He knows that Deuce is sentimental and stupid but he’s also the Angel of Morality out of all damned things, and once Ace stops squirming and screaming, Deuce is going to find Riddle. And then everything will come crashing down again.

He’s angry at himself for being so conceited and confident, thinking he could pull through with this plan and kill the angel he’s been pining over since they first met.

He’s angry at himself because he’s going to have to hurt the one person who’s always stood by him.

Tears somehow make their way to his eyes and he doesn’t know whether it’s the pain from Riddle gruelling his body or his own convoluted emotions, but either way he’d be damned if he let Deuce see him cry.

Ace slaps a hand on Deuce’s forearm and clenches it tightly. Deuce’s eyebrows furrow together but he doesn’t pull away - he moves closer, free hand brushing Ace's shoulder and down his back where Ace's wings used to be.

The angel bends down so that his turquoise eyes at level with Ace’s. “What’s the problem?” 

Ace's voice is caught in his throat and he bites down on his cheek to stop himself from crying.

_You, you, it’s always been you - the problem’s always been you._

Deuce doesn't sound like he's expecting an answer from the tormented soul in front of him, so he doesn't get one. Ace’s hand shakes as he reaches behind his back to grab his dagger. Deuce is too focused on Ace’s scrunched-up expression to notice.

Another stabbing pain. This one isn’t from Riddle. It's internal and soulful and miserable and goes straight to Ace’s heart.

* * *

Trey’s eyes burst open as a sudden rippling force of energy hits his entire body, throwing him against the wall and sending bright peals of light everywhere around the room. Air is knocked out of his throat and he manages a shaky gasp as the impact reels through his veins - he’s filled with energy but in a brutal way. It seizes every organ in his body and shakes it.

For a second it feels like his lungs are being filled up with liquid. He gasps a breath and coughs, using his elbows to push himself up from the ground.

Before he has time to react, small pale hands grab his forearms to pull him up with surprising strength, and Trey finds himself gazing into the bloodied face of Riddle.

His amber eyes narrow in concern. “Riddle—“

“I did it.” Riddle’s eyes are wide and his grip tightens. His voice comes in frantic bursts. “Come on, we need to go. I don’t know how long we’ve been asleep for.”

Trey picks up a corner of the fabric draped and fastened over his shoulder to wipe away the trail of blood dripping from a corner of Riddle’s mouth. He knows that that Riddle's aware of his own injuries but is too stressed and elated to notice - the thought makes his jaw set into a frown.

“What did you do? Are you okay?” he asks softly, fingering a stray hair out of Riddle's eyes.

Riddle nods, even though Trey can feel his hands tremble. He realises that Riddle is holding onto him for support, not the other way around. The shorter angel's legs are shaking in their heels and look painfully skinny all a sudden. “Of course I'm fine. The archangel can withstand anything for his council.”

 _I asked if_ you _were okay, not if you_ should _be okay._

Riddle lets go of Trey and steps back, unfolding his wings. There's emptiness where Riddle's hands once were.

“The others…who knows what’s happened to them?” Riddle's face darkens in a mixture of regret and fury and fear and something strange and unfamiliar that Trey's never seen on his face before. “We need to find them.”

Without another word, Riddle zooms off down the spiralling staircase. Trey has no choice but to follow suit.

* * *

Rook and Jack flutter past the yawning scenery of Heaven, following the breadcrumb-trail of black splotches, weapons in hand. Wariness is now replaced by dread. 

Heaven is a mess. The courtyard has been filled up with unopened letters from the humans eagerly awaiting their Blessing Clouds. Six shimmering golden olive branches hover and bob in midair, waiting for their owners to pick them up and start tapping them against letters for the letter-opening ritual. The clouds rumble and churn thunder and grief. The buildings start to wobble and shake - from the overload of magic or its now unsteady foundations, Rook can't tell.

The sun has been up for far too many hours. Without Kalim to lead it down to sunset, there’s no way to tell how long it’s been - a day, three days?

"Where's this leading?" Jack mutters, most likely to himself.

Something clicks in Rook's brain as they trace the footsteps. "The Enchanted Forest," he breathes.

"Pardon?"

"Leona told me to run to the Enchanted Forest, and these inkblots seem to be leading to it."

Jack's flapping slows considerably. "What if it's...a trap?"

"It's not." Rook's voice is steady and confident. The Enchanted Forest is his and Leona's promise, their own twisted version of an always - Leona would never be dishonest or underhanded if the forest was involved.

"Okay." Rook is grateful for the trust and finality in Jack's voice. 

Both of them are evidently tired - a large portion of their energy comes from their magic, much of which has been spent. If they kept going like this, there would be no more magic left to bless the humans. The thought leaves a bitter taste in Rook's mouth - there's something dark and twisted about being reminded of what they really exist for - to keep the humans safe, happy and satisfied. 

The two of them flitter across the field of clouds that lead to the forest. It seems to stretch out forever. The cotton-candy tufts churn with anguish and thunder, sending vibrations through their feet where their boots graze the storm. 

"Something's wrong with the forest," Jack pipes up suddenly, but his movements don't slow, even as his eyes scrunch shut in concentration. "Someone did something to it. I can sense it."

Rook doesn't reply this time.

As they hurry on, fat raindrop plops onto Rook's arm. He stares at it, and then looks up at the rumbling storm clouds that have somehow made their way above Heaven - they roar and cry like a blackened beast. It's clear that the storm's arrival is no natural phenomenon - black ink snakes through the tumulus lumps like pulsing veins. His mouth sets in a grimace.

"Rook...?"

Rook's eyes snap back in front of him, following Jack's outstretched arm, and he almost trips on thin air. 

The Enchanted Forest is completely destroyed. The trail of black ink leads to a dead end - the entire ground is stained black, pulsing and withering and moving like a basket of snakes. What's left is a battalion of undead gnarled soldiers, bending under their own weight, rotting as if something's taken ahold of their branches. It's as if the entire forest has gotten smaller, weaker, worse. A thin dark mist hangs around the area like a shroud. Jack coughs and waves away the fumes, rooted in his place.

Rook squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenched so hard it hurts.

"Rook?" comes Jack's oddly tentative voice.

"Give me a minute."

 _Calm down, calm down, calm down._ He intones this mantra in his head until it sounds like gibberish - he's not going to calm down and he knows it. How could he? Rook's heart has been ripped out, stomped and spat on and then wretched back into his chest all in the matter of however many hours it's been since the demons had first entered Heaven - and he was a fool to think that everything would be fine. The trail leads to nowhere, the forest is destroyed, and he has no idea where anyone is.

Something unwinds in him, an instinctive and primal shot of energy that resets all of his thoughts. 

When he opens his eyes again, his irises are ablaze.

'We're going to find Kalim."

* * *

_Rook sits in the grass of the Enchanted Forest with Leona's head on his lap, running his pale fingers through Leona's unruly chocolate curls. The sun warms his back, and the flowers hang like brass bells, nodding off and dipping their heads to rest as the day is over._

_Leona sits up slowly, his movements fluid, leaving a gap where he just lay._

_"Leona?" Rook's hands ghost after the other angel. "What's wrong?"_

_Leona's shoulders rise and fall, and his voice is forced and low. "Do you think I'm evil?"_

_"No. Why would I?" Rook moves in front of Leona and presses their foreheads together, brushing Leona's curls back and tracing his features. He keeps his hands cupped around Leona's face. "Nothing about you is evil. You're still the person I fell in love with."_

_A tear falls and lands on the fabric of Rook's lap, and he's surprised that it's not his own._

_Even Leona's tears are stubborn, tough like the rest of him. "I don't want to leave." Leona's grief sounds exactly the same as his exasperation and irritation - it's as if he's never learnt how to be sad. "I don't want to fucking leave, Rook." He closes his hands around Rook's wrists as if to hold himself up._

_His voice breaks Rook's heart. Rook closes his eyes and tries to remember this moment past the tears and the regret and the sadness - he tries to remember the feeling of Leona's hair, the brush of glass, the glimmer of the forest and the intimacy of privacy._

_Leona's execution is tomorrow._

_As if exhausted, Leona slumps down and secures his arms around Rook's waist, eyes squeezing shut, hugging him tightly as if he's afraid what would happen if he let go. Rook lets his arms fall and wrap protectively around Leona, who now reminds him of a child - a stubborn, cynical, innocent little child. Rook's heart aches._

_Rook presses a gentle kiss to Leona's forehead. "I love you."_

_Leona stiffens a bit even though he's heard the sentiment countless times - there's silence, and then,_ _"I know."_

_Even though a part of Rook wants Leona to stay awake so that they can spend their last hours together conscious, he also hopes that Leona can sleep soundly one last time cradled by the angel who loved him above anything, over anything he'd done._

_Rook hums a soft, lilting lullaby that he'd learnt as a child - as a candidate for Angel of Love, he'd learnt countless love songs and sonnets filled to the brim with emotion and tears and the writers' pulsing heartbeats._

_"_ The universe may cut our tethers,

Wear us down with ice and mold,

But I'll be sitting here forever,

With you in the forest gold _."_

_It's the last thing Leona hears, buried in Rook's softness and scent - the last thing he chooses to register, remember and keep - before he gets cast down the next morning._

* * *

_These broken halos all fall away_

_These spoken hymnals all sound the same_

_These fallen angels, they've crawled through hell_

_They know a secret, but they'll never tell_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting some ideas for other twst au's so I'm hoping to get this story finished asap.  
> thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm a bit tentative about this story idea, so tell me what you think!
> 
> Note: Rook was going to be a demon/Fallen Angel, what with his stalker-ish tendencies, but I decided to make him an angel for the plot of the story to make sense (also I might be a bit biased).


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